


Trapped in Himself

by Malind



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Asexual Character, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Depression, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Heavy Angst, Language, M/M, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Lust, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Aragorn's death, Legolas plans to leave for the Undying Lands, with or without his father, although he does mean to ask him to come with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ты не уедешь в Валинор](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/194641) by Mistylight. 
  * Inspired by [you won't go to Valinor](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/194644) by kaprriss. 



> The other day, I saw a fan art on Deviant Art and that led me to the fanfiction it was created for. As much as I enjoyed the fic (yay for Google Translator. :P ), I wanted to know what happens after the rape, so I used their basic idea and started writing my own story.

Formless clouds bleached the color out of the early morning sky as autumn exposed its end. Frost clung to the grass and crinkled under heavy hooves. Easy passage in the north would soon submit to frozen winds, urging those contemplating leaving to do so as soon as possible to avoid gambling with death.

The company of riders stopped in front of the line of trees that spread to the north and south, that hid their destination from the world. Over a century before, Sauron's dark influence had withdrawn from Mirkwood. When the forest had flourished once again on its own, King Thranduil had renamed it Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves, although, when Legolas had heard the new name, he couldn't help but note the similarity to his own name and found it a bit unsettling for a reason he couldn't quite grasp. On that day though, contrary to the new name implying a wash of green, instead, brilliant reds, yellows, and browns dangled from the branches, rustling dryly in the breeze.

As breathtaking as the forest was that day, calling to Legolas with memories of his youth, this was the last place the Prince of Greenleaves wanted to be at that moment. After over a century of living with mortals, with every new sickness, death, and heartache, and with the continued recklessness of humanity and dwarves, and even the remaining elves... The longing to make the journey over the sea had been growing with increasing speed inside of the prince's heart.

With the death of King Elessar, a treasured friend and leader to so many, Legolas could bear it all no longer. It was time. The mostly restored lands of Ithilien were now behind the prince. In front of him laid the Undying Lands and Valinor.

But first, before he could abandon this wretched land, he needed to convince a certain beloved elf that he belonged in Valinor with him. And then, in a week, if not sooner, Legolas planned to return south and set sail, bringing with him with Galadriel's blessing the aged dwarf who rode beside him, as well as any other elf willing to come, whether or not his father came with or followed later on. But what hope could he truly have for his father's accompaniment when his kin riding at his side themselves were divided, let alone those still living in Greenleaves? Some of his company meant to remain in the forest, while others meant to leave these lands with him after their goodbyes, while yet others were undecided.

With every movement forward, Legolas feared more and more that Thranduil would embrace the death of this land and not come with him. But he still meant to ask nonetheless. Beg, if that was what it took to convince his father. No matter how the trees of this forest bloomed again, proving life continued on here, he couldn't bear the thought of his father remaining with the remainder of the Silvan elves, trapped within death.

Legolas straightened in his saddle and turned to the others, a group of twenty-seven souls. He could see his breath in the chilly air as he said, "We should make it to the halls by this afternoon." He let a smile slip. "Then we shall have a proper meal and a warm night's rest."

That got some smiles out of them. They'd been riding north for nearly two weeks with the weather only getting chillier the farther north they went. Last night had been nearly unbearable, waking up to stiff, frost-covered blankets and noses, despite the fires.

"About time, I say." Gimli huffed, scowling at the trees. "My bones and joints have been crying murder for many days. Only your fanciful visions of your home kept me somewhat sane, Legolas. I pray for your sake it is everything you said it would be, or you'll meet the sharpness of my tongue the whole ride back."

After a laugh, sure Gimli would do just that, the prince assured with a smile, "It shall be that and more. My father is a vain, greedy man, in love with his sparkling gems, shiny metals, and robust wine. You should feel right at home, dwarf."

The dwarf hacked a rusty, clearly disbelieving, but humoring laugh. "It sounds as if we should have come much sooner!"

"Yes..." Legolas grinned as his gaze roamed the length of the tree line again, as memories crept back into thought of his father and what that elf had done in years past to both himself and to Gimli's father, something Gimli never brought up anymore. As if on a fast current, the happiness drained out of him. The grin dropped away. "...Although it was difficult enough to receive my father's leave to travel to Ithilien all those years ago. This time..."

Gimli grunted. "The life of a prince, something I cannot envy."

Legolas didn't envy it himself. It had been so many years since he'd last seen his father. He knew little about the elf could have changed. Probably nothing had changed. The king was surely as demanding, intolerant, possessive, and coldly withdrawn as he'd ever been, despite the occasional kind word. But how could Legolas possibly hope to prepare himself to face Thranduil after so many years softening at the loose laws and morals of humans?

The elf blew out a forceful breath and urged his horse forward, following the worn path near the river. The others tailed his lead.

Just as the afternoon drew close to evening, the group reached one of the side doors of the elvenking's halls, one easily missed in the expanse of the hillside and trees. The door was one that typically opened to the merchants that brought goods from the new town of Esgaroth, the replacement of Laketown, as well as other places, so as to not force the travelers farther into the forest without need.

At the small, inconspicuous door, Gimli cleared his throat and raised a brow at the elf. "I find myself... speechless, Legolas, as I said all those years ago I would be. I imagine the expanse is immeasurable, dripping with gems, crystal, and ore that glint and twinkle like starlight in the walls. And the fluted columns spiraling up and up. Oh, yes, and the still lakes mirroring every light except when the musical silver drops land and wrinkle the dark water? Yes, quite comparable to Helm's Deep, I should think."

Legolas took in Gimli's unimpressed puckering of his lips and grinned again. "Ah, Gimli, but as we both know," Legolas teased, "Dwarves helped forge these halls long before you and I were born. So I believe you should find yourself a least a little impressed."

Gimli raised a brow at him, shifting a bit in his saddle. No doubt they were all sore and stiff with the cold, more than ready to stretch out in the warmth of the halls. "True. True enough. We shall see if your folk muddled up their fine work."

At their approach, a guard stepped out of the door and walked towards them. "Greetings, my Lord Legolas." Then the female took in all of them with a smile, as a flock of elven servants walked out of the door behind her. The robed figures walked up to the riders, taking the reins so that the travelers were free to dismount. "We have been awaiting your return since you sent word to the King through the songs of birds. We have prepared rooms for you. Please, follow me inside, and I will present you to our King before you retire to your rooms to refresh. Your belongings will be delivered to them shortly."

None of them could deny how good that sounded, not even the grinning dwarf who was probably more than ready for a soak in some steaming hot water. But first, they had to face the King.

The guard's eyes then latched onto Gimli. In Westron, she said, "You will have to remove your weapons, Master Dwarf, for you will be in the presence of King Thranduil."

Gimli's mouth opened to protest, judging from his sputtering deep scowl and the sudden grip on his large, sheathed axe.

Unlike the time so many years before when Legolas had childishly complained about being blindfolded along with the Fellowship, the prince beat Gimli to it with words spoken in Sindarin, a language Gimli now spoke fluently, "Then we all shall unarm ourselves." He turned to the elves. "Remove your weapons. We face the King."

As the pile of weapons grew, Gimli grumbled something colorful under his breath but then removed his weapons as well. When finished, they left the pile behind as they were led into the narrow passage, one used typically by the servants and guards of the underground fortress. The hallway itself was unimpressive, Legolas knew, just a standard tunnel. And Gimli's grunts and clicks of his tongue pushed that in his face. The prince pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

Once they exited the tunnel though, the expanse of the halls opened up to them and brought a rush of warm and not so warm memories to the elf. He drew in a deep breath of the slightly damp air. No amount of magic or cleaning could completely get rid of it. But any traces of mold and the like were well covered with lightly perfumed air that smelled of spring flowers, even in the lateness of fall.

While the halls didn't sparkle with an abundance of gems, it did glitter in the torchlight and sunlight with the bits of ore that flowed up every tall spiraled column and rounded wall. The walkways leapt over the depths underneath, landing on pedestals of rock, only to leap again and turn into staircases that lead to yet more halls, chambers, and, below them, the cellars of the King's stores and the cells unfrequented by prisoners such as Gimli's father.

The dwarf next to him said nothing, merely let his gaze wander. Legolas took that as a hopefully good sign.

A few minutes later, Legolas could no longer deny who they approached. He tried to hold his head up high, as he'd always done in his father's presence, no matter Thranduil's prior glowers or how the king had scolded him when Legolas was a child or had reprimanded him when Legolas grew. He'd never let his father intimidate him before, because he knew his father loved him despite their self-inflicted distance. Why was it so different at that moment?

Well, perhaps because the look in his father's eyes for him, and for him alone, was like no other before it. Legolas couldn't find a trace of love in its coldness. His body heated under the scrutiny, making him suddenly wish he'd simply sailed away and merely hoped his father would follow after, just to avoid this confrontation he was suddenly so sure would get them nowhere, quite literally. His hesitant glances only confirmed that. His father would never leave these halls outside of the release of his soul at death. And, irrationally, Legolas began to fear entrapment, even though it'd been ages since Thranduil had outright forbid him anything.

"Humph, your father seems a touch perturbed, Legolas," Gimli said with a sneer that could have been a smirk on any other race.

"Unfortunately, what you see is his normal face."

"Normal, you say? I fear the one for his enemies then."

Legolas huffed dryly. "That one is a sight to behold, one that gives little elf children nightmares."

The guard turned her head slightly, clearly overhearing their conversation. Legolas pressed his lips together and remained silent for the rest of their unhurried, steady pace to the throne. The group soon stopped on the main platform and looked up at the king, exactly how the high, sprawling throne intended them to, as if the King who ruled over the Silvan elves was a god.

King Thranduil was dressed in a wash of crimson, his robe, long coat, pants, and boots, all different shades of blood-red, which made his platinum-blonde hair and light skin only stand out all the more. Atop his head, Thranduil wore a crown of the season, with the reds, browns, and yellows accenting the reds of his garments. Gems around his neck and fingers glittered in the light. A forceful presence, even as Thranduil's muscular, but loose body reclined back into the throne, his father was magnificent amongst the beautiful. Even his son could see that, especially after so many years away from home.

"Your safe returns are a blessing," Thranduil stated in Westron. His gaze flickered for a brief moment to the dwarf and then returned to Legolas, as he continued with, "And I welcome you, Gimli, son of Glóin. I wish I had become better acquainted with your father all those years ago."

Gimli half-grunted, half-snorted in a way only a dwarf could and ground out in Sindarin, "As do I."

With those icy blue eyes again on Legolas alone, the prince had forgotten just how much his father could make his heart pound, even when the prince managed to stare the older elf down. Well, the pounding only happened when Legolas lacked some outside objective stealing his attention, such as saving Tauriel from herself and his father's wrath.

Yes, Legolas could admit, there had been times when he had gotten his way with his father, but only when he'd demanded reason from his father by being unreasonable himself. But that had only been to change his father's immediate course of action.

Changing the king's heart was a whole different matter. Before that day, in his childhood and adolescence, Legolas had tried to change his father's increasingly frozen heart after the death of his mother. But he'd eventually given up when it'd only led to his own heartbreak. Now...

Now, Legolas had the goal of getting Thranduil to understand and agree with him. To, in fact, change his heart. But in looking up at his cold and calculating father, he knew it to be a fanciful dream. What had ever made him think he'd succeed in getting his father to leave, unless it was already a thought in Thranduil's head? Threats couldn’t even remotely work for this. They more likely had an excellent chance of backfiring than aiding him. Perhaps...

Perhaps he shouldn't say anything. Did he really want to deal with the consequences of trying, after all? Especially when one possible consequence was his father forbidding him to leave?

Legolas made up his mind in that moment to say nothing of his plans. He would simply spend the week here and then leave. He wouldn't even ask for Thranduil's permission. The only problem with that plan though was the fact that others with him already knew of his intent to leave, were planning on leaving themselves. He'd promised them a chance to say their goodbyes and gather up their families before he led them back south, and he still planned to give them that chance. But he'd also have to hope word wouldn't reach his father, at least not concerning Legolas himself.

But then again, the elves really didn't need him to lead them. Such an accompaniment was more a formality, an act of friendship, than anything. Perhaps he could just slip away with Gimli, the consequences be damned. Then he wouldn't have to deal with his father, not directly, anyway.

The prince dragged himself out of his thoughts when he noticed the silence. He refocused on his father and realized the elder elf was still staring directly at him and studying his every movement, his every twitch, his every breath. With the unyielding look, Legolas wondered then if his father could see his intentions in his mind, although Thranduil had never shown that ability in the past, one possessed only by the most magically-inclined of the elves.

Eyes widening slightly, he bowed his head and wished with everything in him that he'd simply sailed away weeks before. The silence continued on for a moment longer before he realized that, as his group's leader, they were waiting for him to speak.

Not giving Legolas the chance to redeem himself though, Thranduil said to the small group of servants who had followed his party, "Please escort everyone to their rooms. They are weary from their travels." When Legolas made to turn around to go with them, Thranduil halted him with, "Remain here, Legolas. I wish to speak with you."

The party was a bit slow to depart, especially Gimli whose eyes seemed undecided on who to focus on, taking in both father and son. But finally, Legolas nodded to him and Gimli merely shook his head before he followed the others with obvious reluctance.

When they'd all left, Thranduil let his eyes lift away from his son to watch the last traces of them. "The dwarf is quite protective over you."

The prince swallowed with a nod. "We have been through much together, father. He is more of a friend than anyone could wish for."

"The commitment of friendship..." The king smiled a cold smile and looked back onto his son. "What are his plans, now that you are home?"

With Legolas' own plans suddenly the opposite of the ones he'd had when he'd first arrived, he found he couldn't answer at first. He'd never lied to his father, outside of the childish ones of his youth. He didn't want to start now, but he felt he didn't have a choice. "He has not told me his plans."

A thick dark brow raised. "Such intimate closeness between you both, and he... merely followed you with no word on his intent?"

His father obviously didn't believe him. Legolas wasn't surprised.

"We have spoken of it, but he is still undecided. The death of King Elessar has uprooted him, as it has many others."

"I see..." Thranduil tilted his head to the side. Somehow his expression managed to grow colder, just before his head restraightened, his lips curving up just slightly. The new look sent a chill through the younger elf. "You have had a long journey, Legolas. Refresh yourself. I assume you remember where your room is. Tonight there will be a feast for everyone's return. We shall discuss the other matter another day, when you can speak of it with greater certainty."

The prince nodded and turned on his heel, more than happy to leave his father's presence. He was so happy with what appeared to be the end of it, for now, that his heart stopped when his father spoke again.

"Legolas..." the elder elf began.

There was a marked pause. The younger elf couldn't make himself turn around. He merely stood there, his breaths growing heavier with every passing moment. Just when he was about to start forward again, unable to deal with the uncertainty and his own lies and half-truths, his father finished with:

"I shall see you tonight."

Holding his breath, Legolas nodded again. Then his stride moved quickly, surely making his retreat obvious. He didn't know what his father had been about to say, but it certainly wasn't what Thranduil actually did say.

Legolas retreated directly to his bedchamber, bathed in the drawn water in the tub in the middle of the room, dressed in clothing he'd left behind and hadn't worn for so many years but still smelled fresh, probably recently washed with the anticipation of his return. The clothing was a simple, yet elegant dark grey long, pants, and matching boots. The textured surface shimmered like a reptile's skin. And although it was far fancier than anything he'd worn in years, outside of at Aragorn's funeral, the clothing would never compare to his father's.

When finished, he sought out a servant to find out the chamber Gimli had been offered. It ended up being well on the other side of the fortress, where the normal guests and residents resided. He wasted no time in locating the room in a section of the halls he rarely entered. A solid fist rapped on the door.

"Come."

Breathing out a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to go searching, although, honestly, where would a dwarf go in a place like this? Especially with this being Gimli's father's prison for over a month, Legolas himself being one of the elves who'd captured him.

When Legolas entered, the dwarf gave him a firm look over, but seemed satisfied with what he saw and resumed brushing out his long, white beard. The dwarf was wearing his better clothing, letting the elf blow out a relieved breath. He hadn't wanted to attend the feast alone, fearing Gimli might refuse to go.

"Did you ask him, Legolas?"

The elf let his back clunk against the door behind him and closed his eyes. "No. To even bother... Changing his mind would be like..."

"Ordering a troll to play the 'Song of Lorien' on a flute?"

After a short laugh at the image, Legolas let his head clunk back as well. "Yes, impossible and painful for everyone enduring it..." His smile left him. "I think it best to leave and soon. Perhaps tomorrow. I can give word to one of the others that we must travel ahead."

Gimli had stopped brushing at some point and now merely stared at him with a frown. "You mean to leave without a word when you know good and well you never plan on coming back?"

When said like that...

Still... "He will not listen to me. Trust me."

"Then why bother coming here in the first place? You must have thought your father would listen when you dragged my feeble bones along with you."

"I did think he would..." Legolas groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "But seeing him again has changed my mind."

After brushing a bit more, the dwarf tossed the brush on his bag and walked up to him, crossing his arms over his chest. After pursing his lips for a moment, Gimli sighed out, "Well, if you mean to do it, let us feast tonight at least. I staved off my appetite all afternoon. Ravenous falls short for the state of my belly."

Legolas couldn't help his grin, the closest he'd come to a true smile for a good couple of hours. "Of course, come then. Let us fill your belly." He pushed away from the door and wrapped an arm around the much shorter person's shoulders. "And I shall introduce you to true elven drink, the drink of a King."

Gimli grinned and rubbed his hands together. "I like the sound of that! Lead the way, elf."

When they reentered the hallway, as they walked the bridges and tunnels, it got busier and busier with the feast's preparations. When they came to the hall where the festivities were to take place, they were bombarded with the richness of Legolas' kingdom he would soon forfeit. Lavish wooden furniture lined the walls, leaving a space in the middle for dancing and entertainment. Bejeweled and tasseled silk sheets draped over the ceiling and walls, softening the hardness of stone. Every table and chair was ornamented with jewels and precious metals, although the most ornamented of the lot was the head table with its towering throne.

Next to the throne were two more chairs. One fitting a prince, Legolas' own chair. The other was where his mother used to sit. At feasts, the chair remained empty in her memory. Seeing it there brought instant wetness to Legolas' eyes that he worked to stop. He'd forgotten about the custom after so many years away from home.

Looking away to still his heart, he spotted a maiden carrying a pitcher of wine to a table. He walked up to her before she could walk past.

She paused at his approach and inclined her head. "My Lord, is there something you wish of me?"

Legolas smiled his best smile. "Your pitcher of wine. I told my friend I would introduce him to my father's best."

The female seemed unimpressed with his smile as she raised a brow to the dwarf who'd remained a short distance away. "This drink is not for mere mortals."

"I take responsibility for any outlandish conduct, my lady."

Her raised brow turned onto Legolas. She took one last look between them and then handed Legolas the pitcher. "Pray tell those who ask that I warned you."

The prince nodded, affirming, "Of course. The consequences rest fully on my shoulders," and then walked away, grinning at Gimli. The two of them walked to a corner table, most of the tables still empty, turned over two of the bejeweled goblets, and Legolas filled them to the brim. Picking up his, the elf toasted, "To a pleasant night of full bellies and wine."

Gimli grinned back. "About time." And then he dove in without further hesitation. At the first large swallow, the dwarf's normally squinting eyes bulged, then he burst out in a coughing fit.

The elf's eyes dancing with amusement, Legolas sipped a bit of his own, knowing the power of it and how it'd take a while to grow used to that strength. It had a subtle berry taste to it that offset the burning of one's throat to a cinder. The hint of spice in the fading aftertaste left one wanting more, just to feel that heat again. It was the perfect flavor for autumn, a reminder of the summer and a promise of the winter to come.

Soon enough, when the room was more than half full with guests, the King not yet arrived, the two of them were laughing and singing and telling stories with a group their companions who'd ventured with them to Ithilien, as well as their family and others.

Then, nearly an hour later, the King arrived and much of the room quieted for their respects, except Legolas' company's tables full of elves who were too drunk to recollect the old custom of quiet reverence for their king's arrival, let alone notice the king himself. It wasn't until Thranduil had stared in their direction for nearly a minute, still standing near the entryway, that someone at the tables noticed. Slowly at first, a flood of hushing washed over. When that awareness reached Legolas, Gimli's head already on the table, passed out with loud snores, the prince stood with a jolt but then wavered as his gaze went in and out of focus. Then the world spun. And then it got surprisingly dark. And then... well, pleasant.


	2. Sealing Fate

When awareness came with a vengeance as an intense pounding in Legolas' head, thankfully, little light drifted through his closed, cringing lids. Gradually, another awareness, an increasingly horrific ache in his groin, won out over his head. It took another minute before he realized the source of the pain: his bladder was going to explode, with or without him.

Moved into some semblance of action, his body rolled sluggishly.  A sheet tangled around him, constricting him further with each movement.  His toes edged out, trying to find the end the bed.  At least, he assumed it to be a bed due to the cradling softness.

With all of the movement, his stomach rolled. His head rolled. He could no longer tell up from down.  The pain everywhere and nausea made him want to weep, but he feared the possible pain in that as well.  At the rate he was going, he didn't know if this was worth the effort.  After all, there was no way he was going to be able to sit up, let alone find the chamber pot to relieve himself.

Something, someone touched his shoulder.  He tried to tell the person his problem, that he was going to leak all over himself.  He had no idea if the plea for help reached his lips.  But he thought they had when he was pulled into a wavering seated position, quite against his will.  That was his limit of pain.  A cry filled his ears, and he thought it was probably his own. Was sure of it when his dry throat burned and his head throbbed.

Coldness goose-bumped his skin, the sheet being pulled from his body.  Was he naked?   Uh, yes, he was quite naked.

Coldness touch the underside of the harness between his legs.  His eyes flashed open at the shock of it, but then quickly closed again at the stark nausea, his head rolling.  Thank goodness for the gripping hand on his shoulder.  It took a second for him to realize the coldness was a life-saving chamber pot.  Relief flooded him.  Thankfully, his body got the message.   The pleasure combined with the pain when his bladder emptied...  He almost cried out again. Instead, he whimpered.

Why, oh, why was he like this?  He tried to remember with all of his brain power, as the last trickles came out.  Had he been drinking?  It felt a bit like a hangover, but so much worse with the numbing throbbing in his head.  His brain fumbled before he remembered glimpses of a party.  No a feast.  He'd been home.  He was home?

Something touched his forehead lightly.  The dart of pain startled him, his eyes flinging open, as he jerked back.  Opening his eyes only made it all so much worse though, so he clenched them shut.

Then, he heard close to his ear, "Lie back down."

Legolas knew without a doubt who that voice belonged to.  Embarrassed, fearful, barely able to focus his eyes on the large body in front of him, his first instinct was to fight the hands pushing at him, but he was too weak to take it further than a thought. The bed cushioned him, his eyes reclosing with his cringe, as a blanket covered him.

His father was caring for him?  After he'd drunk himself into a stupor?  And then what?  The pain on his forehead told him he'd also injured himself.  What had he done?  What kind of idiocy had he inflicted on himself and those around him?

He tried to apologize, but he wasn't sure it'd worked when exhaustion and pain took him back into darkness.

The next time he awoke, it was from the push of a nightmare of drowning.  And it was still happening.  He flung his hands up and regretted it.  Everything wavered.  He was so glad he was still lying down. 

When he could think without that seeming painful as well, he touched his chapped lips and felt the wetness there.  Someone had been feeding him water.  As he tried to clear his wet throat, he realized why.  He was so thirsty. 

Someone reached under his shoulders and lifted him, Legolas calling out weakly from the pain that went from his head down to his shoulders and more.  A thick pillow was wedged behind him.  Then he was rested against it, allowing him to sit up halfway.  When he felt steady enough, he opened his eyes and tried to find the person helping him.  Sitting next to him on the bed was, again, his father. And this time, unfortunately, sleep didn't retake him.

Unfortunate because his father didn't look the least bit happy.  In fact, he'd never seen such anger in his father's eyes.  At least not directed at him.  Yes, that face was definitely the source of nightmares for young little elves.

"Say nothing, Legolas.  I have no desire to hear your voice at the moment."

So said the elf who was caring for him when any other could have. As such, those words only grew the desire to say something, but he couldn't when a cup was brought to his mouth and tipped, forcing him to drink it or have it dripple all over himself.  His eyes closed.  When he drank a couple of swallows, the cup was pulled away, leaving him breathing heavily with the effort of everything.

They sat together quietly for several minutes before Legolas opened his eyes again.  His father still looked furious.  Perhaps even more so.  Why was his father so angry with him?  Because he gotten drunk and passed out in front of everyone, giving himself a good crack to the head in the process, embarrassing himself and his father at the same time?  Or was it something more?  He had the feeling it was the latter since his father hadn't been happy with him since he'd first walked back into the halls.  Surely though, getting drunk had only added to whatever infuriated the elf.

Low, dangerously, Thranduil ordered, "Tell me what you plan to do in a week."

"Plan to do?"  The prince asked it, even though he knew exactly what his father was asking.

"Has playing stupid ever worked with me, child?"

Feeling quite like a child again, and trapped under a spider who wanted to know which way he preferred to be devoured, Legolas cleared his once again dry throat and said, "No."

Legolas basically trapped on the bed by his own devices, his father studied his face with a coldness Legolas wished he could ease. There had been a time when Thranduil had smiled at him and meant it.  That time had long since passed.  Then, the king growled, "The birds tell me much more than merely what you want them to say."

Legolas blanched, feeling dizzy all over again.  His father knew.  He knew everything.  He had known even before Legolas had come into the halls. "I-I came here to convince you to come with me.  I want you to come with me."

The king's eyes narrowed.  "And I would prefer it if you remained here." 

Despite the wording, the words were not a simple plea or a request.  They were an order, a demand.  Unthinkingly, Legolas blurted out, "You cannot keep me here against my will!"

The longer Thranduil stared, the more Legolas felt like sinking into the mattress, losing himself in its plushness.  Then Thranduil whispered, "I realize I cannot keep you here against your will.  Eternity is a long time, after all.  It would have to be of your own free will if you stayed."

And that wouldn't be happening.  "Father, I can no longer remain here.  All of this death; my heart and mind can no longer bear it.  You must feel it as well.  You must understand what I say!"

Some of his father's anger dissipated, but in its place came an emotion that appeared no better.  Determination, perhaps?  "The world outside of my kingdom does not affect me, my son.  Within these borders there is no death, no suffering of the kind you speak of.  The only death here is in the dwarf you brought with you."

Legolas' heart clenched at the coarse words.  Of course he knew that.  Gimli's time on this world was severely limited.  Nonetheless, defensively, he whispered, "Gimli is my friend."

"Who is on death's doorstep.  Yet you bring him on your little adventures, a reminder of this death and suffering you say inflicts you so.  As such, you seem to bear heartache to a far greater degree than you admit."

"Father..."  The younger elf shook his head, wishing he could make Thranduil understand, but, underneath, he knew his father to be wise, having lived far longer than himself.  Thranduil surely understood exactly what his son was talking about but simply didn't care.  "I will not do it again.  I cannot love another, only to watch them..."

"I know."  At the words, Legolas stared at his father, surprised with the admission.  Thranduil smiled, but it had no warmth.  "I do understand, my son.  You seem to forget I have lost someone I love."  The smile was lost, as he looked directly into Legolas' eyes.  "I will not lose another."

The final words were said with such fervor that Legolas lost his breath.  The younger elf could not doubt who Thranduil was talking about with the near threat.  A moment later, his father was off of the bed, leaving him alone in what Legolas realized was his own room as he watched Thranduil close the door.

Eventually, when the prince lost himself in restless sleep, after some time, although he had no idea how much, his servant came with a cup of water and a plate of simple foods.  He drank and ate what he could stomach and left the dishes on his side table.  A while later, unable to go back to sleep, he edged again off of the bed, taking the sheet with him because he was still quite naked, and walked with wavering steps to the dresser with a large mirror on top that allowed him to see most of his body.  It took a moment force focus, but then he saw the white bandage on his forehead.  Fingers touched the source of the pain gingerly.  He sucked in a breath at the shock of renewed pain and gripped the dresser to hold himself steady.

Whatever the state of his body, he had to get out of there.  Before Thranduil came back.  He had to find Gimli and simply flee this place.  While his father had talked of free will, he wasn't sure the lengths his father would go to in order to force Legolas' 'free will' into submission.  He didn't want to find out.

The door opened.  He turned and saw his father standing in the doorway, holding a small cup.  After a moment of mutual staring, Thranduil came to his side and ushered him back to the bed. He sat him down and offered the cup that was less than half full. Taking it, Legolas looked down at its contents.  It was a green color that reminded him of summer leaves.

"Medicine, to give you back your strength." The words were stated evenly with no room for complaint.

Legolas sloshed it around a bit, watching it move, and then took a tentative sip.  It tasted decent enough.  More like wine than some of the herbs that were supposed to help but tasted like a death in themselves.  He emptied the cup in a couple of swallows and then handed it back to his father.  His father sat by his side, quiet.  Legolas couldn't make his mouth move.  He just wanted the elf gone so that he could start making plans.

A couple of minutes later, the dizziness returned.  With a vengeance.  His head swayed, and he gripped it to try to stop the motion. His father put the cup with the other dishes and then helped him lie down.  After he'd done it, Thranduil stood. 

The rustling of fabric drifted over.  Legolas blinked his eyes open and focused on his father. The king had begun to disrobe, much to Legolas' confusion.

"What...  What are you doing?"

"There are few things that would prevent a soul from entering the Undying Lands," the elf said flatly as he slipped off his undershirt.  "Your lack of restraint last night has given me an idea.  It is true: I cannot keep you prisoner within these halls, not for eternity.  Even if I tried to keep you against your will, it would not be allowed by those living here.  However...  You can never escape your own body."

Wide-eyed at the words, heart pounding, Legolas tried to sit up but barely moved, his gaze going in and out of focus, his mind growing more and more muddled and confused with the flood of fear and the drug speeding through him.  Then the blanket was peeled off of him and he was rolled unceremoniously onto his stomach.  Too out of it, he couldn't fight any of it.  A warm, heavy, large weight shifted on top of him.  And he knew it was his father, naked against him. And he knew what was going to happen, especially when he felt a hardness at his backside, pressing at his crack.  It was slick with the movement, and Legolas realized his father had oiled himself.

Tears in his eyes, Legolas breathed out, "Please...  You cannot do this." He wanted to scream those words, but his lungs couldn't find the air. 

And then, with a solid thrust, the tip and more entered him, making him call out weakly as he was taken for the first time in his life, his mind darkening more from the drug than the spike of pain.  Bent arms rested on either side of him, trapping his own. With two more thrusts, he was impaled. Layers of his father's hair fell down to tickled his back and arms with each movement, a sharp contrast to the pain.

His father's cock completely inside of him, Legolas couldn't believe what had just happened so quickly and against his will. And by his own father. Feeling sick for so many reason, he whispered, "Please, let me go."

"I cannot," Thranduil whispered against the back of his neck, his breath hot and damp.

With a few more thrusts, grunting slightly, his father was shuddering against him, coming so quickly it surely brought him little pleasure.  Thranduil pulled away from him unceremoniously. Legolas barely felt the sting of the cock leaving him. The absence of the body left him cold and barely able to hold on.

"Please," he mouthed, his throat unable to voice the word, before unconsciousness retook him.

When Legolas awoke the third time, he had no idea how much time had passed since that night.  But his bladder was full again, and, thankfully, he was able to move with considerable more ease than he last remembered.  It wasn't until he sat up though that he noticed the pain irritating his backside.  He stood and, in his confusion, touched the source lightly, having never experienced it before.  Burning, the ring felt raw, like he'd been ripped open.

His mind blanking as to why that could possibly be, with more urgent needs demanding his attention, he found the chamber pot underneath the bed, put it onto the stool next to his bed, and made to empty his bladder.  Looking to the bed while he did it, he then noticed the red stain on the bed, right where his groin would have been.  It was clearly blood.  And from the pain of his backside...

A heated body flashed in his mind.  The thrusts.  His own begging.  And his father's voice.  The prince stood there, holding his deflating piss hard-on in his hand, wide-eyed and unable to move. 

His father had raped him.  To force him to stay.  Never, never would he have imagined that would have been the tactic Thranduil would use to force compliance.  He couldn't get his mind around it; it was so wrong. His father wasn't a rapist.  Had never even laid a hand on him outside of some discipline when he'd been quite young and overly rebellious.  But he couldn’t deny the pain at this backside, nor the blood on the bed, nor his own admittedly gapped memory.

Nausea consumed him as his head lightened.  He didn't know how he managed to not vomit, but he made it to the bed and slumped down until he had his knees on the floor, his head resting against the mattress.  He clenched his eyes shut and tried to calm himself, tried to see reason.

His father wouldn't have done that.  There was no way.  His memory had to be faulty.  There had to be another explanation.  But he couldn’t think of one, so he just blanked out his mind and refused to even think about it. He couldn't think about it and not wail at the same time.

It took a while before he felt well enough to stand again, but eventually the chilled floor got the better of him.  His body and mind numb, he walked to the dresser and found something to wear.  Then, after wrapping himself in a robe, still dazed, he walked to the communal bath.  The couple of elves he'd passed by, he didn't even acknowledge. Thankfully, no one was there. 

After soaking and scrubbing for what felt like an hour in the dug-out pool heated by the magic of the living stone, he dried himself and dressed and then found himself walking to his father's bedchamber. For a couple of minutes outside of it, he could only stand there, wondering why he was there when he knew in the back of his mind what had happened to him.  But everything else inside of him still couldn't believe it, and he wanted his father to tell him that it hadn't truly happened, that it was all a misunderstanding.  That there was a perfectly good explanation for his torn backside and the memory of his father's wretched words.

A solid knock brought no voice, nor could he sense anyone inside.  He rested his forehead against the wood, ignoring the slight pain from the gash that was partially healed already.  Fingernails raked against the door, paining him, but he couldn't care.

He thought of Gimli then, wondering where he was, considering seeking him out instead, but just the thought of him...  No, he couldn’t bear seeing the dwarf at that moment.  He knew he'd break down completely, if he did, and then he'd have to tell the dwarf everything.  He couldn't stomach that.  He needed to regain control of himself first.  Bury this, whatever it was, deep inside of himself, so he could forget.

It wasn't until he heard footsteps that he pulled away and watched a male servant walk directly up to him with clear intent.

"Lord Legolas, my apologies.  I was told to wait at your door until you awoke, but I got called elsewhere temporarily and have been searching for you ever since.  Please, your father is dining and would like you to join him, if you will."

At first, Legolas thought to refuse and merely retreat back to his room.  Yes, he'd wanted to see his father, but on his own terms.  Answering his call instead seemed far too much like running into a trap quite willingly.  But running away wouldn't help either, not while in this place.  If he attempted to disobey the king so obviously, it would only bring unwanted repercussions of his father's wrath he wasn't ready to deal with.  It was better to wait for the proper moment, if he was going to attempt disobeying.

After a nod, the servant led him down the hallways until they came to a large dining room.  The room was decorated just as lavishly as the hall had been the night before...  Or at least he assumed it was the night before...  This time, he saw, his father had actually made it to his seat.

Icy blue eyes lifted at his approach.  They held no more warmth than they did when he'd first arrived in the fortress, and Legolas had to second guess himself.  Surely, if his father had come to know his son's body so completely, it would have shown in his eyes.  Surely there would have been something more than hate.

"Sit," Thranduil said evenly, as he had so many times before, offering the chair next to him.

Legolas took a seat in his chair, the same one he'd used since he'd reached adolescence.  Most of the expansive table was unused in that way, but, at times, dignitaries also dined with them.  He felt eyes on him, studying his forehead he'd unbandaged and washed during his bath.

"You have healed well."

"Yes, father."

Food was placed in front of him.  But he couldn't eat it.  He could barely even look at it.

Probably when his lack of appetite became obvious, Thranduil asked, "How will you regain your strength, if you will not eat?"

The word 'strength' jolted a memory out of him.  That was the word his father had used when he'd offered him that medicine.  He was sure now that he'd been drugged.  "That medicine you offered me..."

"I use it sometimes when I find myself unable to sleep.  It works rather quickly, as you noticed."

"You..."  Legolas couldn’t even say it out loud.  He stared down at his plate, feeling his father's stare still on him.  How could his father have done this to him?  He'd taken away any innocence Legolas had left in his virginity.  He'd taken it without even asking for permission.  Not that Legolas would have given it freely, but still...  And... 

And...  "A father does not..."

"Incest, one of our great sins."

Thranduil's prior words, about unworthy souls being barred from the Undying Lands, were true.  His father had cursed him, denied him, and stolen from him, all in one simple act of entering his body.  Even if the prince tried to enter the Undying Lands with a lie, there were elves and spirits there who could see into his mind, heart, and soul and know what he'd done, even if it'd been done to him.  He was now impure and unworthy of eternal life.  As his father was.  Together...

"You have taken away my life," Legolas said, and then swallowed back tears that would do him no good.  The act was already done.  His fate was sealed.  He would be forced to live out eternity amongst a dying people, unless he succumbed to death himself.

"Send the dwarf on his way, as well as any others leaving Middle Earth.  What you tell them is your choice, but they are to be gone within a week, as you had planned." When nothing to the contrary came out of Legolas' mouth, Thranduil rose and walked away from him, saying, "Eat or I shall have you fed. I will have no death here."

And then the prince was left alone.  That confused him more than anything.  His father had acted no different towards him than any other time since he'd reached adulthood.  The claiming, if it even could have been called that, obviously meant nothing to his father.  It was merely a means to an end.  The end being keeping him here.  But why?  Why did it matter so much whether he stayed or left if his father meant to have nothing to do with him?  What was the purpose to any of it?  Was merely just trapping Legolas in this forsaken place all his father truly wanted?  But again, why, if Thranduil cared so little for him?  It just didn't make any sense to him.

Legolas ate what he could stomach, stopping when he feared he'd vomit, and left the rest, retreating back to his room, mentally and physically shattered. Not bothering to undress, he collapsed on his bed and let his mind abandon him as sleep oh-so-thankfully overtook him.


	3. Loving Another

For the next two days, Legolas secluded himself in his expansive, claustrophobic bedchamber, refusing to answer the door for anyone, except for his servant whom Legolas could tell was concerned, even if he never said a word, whom the prince also couldn't ignore without risking his father coming to his door.  He spent that time trying and failing miserably to right everything in his mind, mend himself back together, and accept the reality of his eternal life.  

During that time, whenever sleep took him, his nightmares brought his father down on him, his mother's dead eyes and Gimli's disgusted eyes merely watching him get raped, again and again. He'd wake up to damp clothing and sheets, a bit more of his sanity destroyed, before he realized he was better off not sleeping at all. 

By the third day, in poorer shape than when he'd first entered the room, he then realized he couldn't stay in there any longer.  Being alone and dwelling in everything wasn't helping him. But he couldn't merely roam the underground fortress either.  The off-chance of being confronted with Thranduil would surely destroy any sanity he had left. He knew he had to leave altogether, before he went as insane.  As insane as his father already was.  

With that thought in mind, Legolas grabbed his daggers, bow, and quiver hanging on hooks on a wall. Strapping them on, he left everything else lest he get unwanted attention, and was out the door and making his way to Gimli's chamber.  

The prince nodded when he had to, trying to not make his sudden yearning for escape too obvious and risk it get back to his father. He was leaving this place, whether or not he could enter the Undying Lands. With or without his father's consent. If he and Gimli could just make it outside and into the forest, there would be little his father could do.  He doubted his father would suffer the humiliation of sending the Silvan elves after him who would no doubt question the why's. 

...Of course, Gimli wasn't a young dwarf anymore and had never been much of a runner. He would need his horse to make good time. But they could manage that. Legolas would just tell the elves at the stables that they were heading out for a hunt, nothing abnormal for their Crowned Prince. 

It was a good enough plan. Well, good until, almost free of the royal chambers, already feeling out for Thranduil's presence, the prince felt the molten pulse of his father converging on him before he saw him.  

A short distance away down the tunnel, his father stepped out of the lounge, leaving behind a fading conversation, and blocked his path.  His face was so neutral that Legolas knew to fear him.  

His father was also armed, as he usually was. The elder elf was no stranger to combat and had the magically-concealed deep, ancient scars to prove it. Thranduil had in fact taught Legolas much of what he knew, even when it came to a bow and arrow when his father preferred swords. The prince had never been foolish enough to think he stood an easy chance against him. If they were truly to go against one another, he didn't know if he could win without some mistake on Thranduil's part, a type of mistake the king hadn't made for far too long.   

Fighting was as natural to the king as his beating heart, as much as it was to Legolas. Although, at that moment, Legolas questioned whether or not Thranduil's heart actually still beat. 

In face of the fleshy blockade, Legolas' steps faltered, his chest heaving. He'd never before felt such a frustration mixed with so much torment, not even when his mother had died. Perhaps though that was because his mother's death added itself to this moment, as Legolas faced down his other parent who was supposed to love and protect him, not hate and destroy him. 

Before her death, his father hadn't been like this, had looked upon his son and his wife both with such love and affection. This elf before him was not his father. This elf was merely a shell of his true father's perfection. A shell he now needed to break one way or another in order to save what little of himself could be saved. 

Using that notion to steel his heart, he charged forward again, stopping an arm's length away, his hands itching to draw his daggers, but he wasn't to that point yet, even though his father was already ready for a fight, as he always was.  

A dim hiss to avoid prying ears, Legolas declared, "You cannot force me to remain here!" 

The line of Thranduil's body was rigid as he stared down at Legolas and countered right back with a low growl, "You are mine, Legolas. I have every right in this forsaken world to keep you." 

Wide-eyed, jaw dropping, heat rushed through the younger elf and colored his cheeks. Legolas couldn't even begin to respond to that. His father had never before said such possessive, irrational words to him. 

But, if Legolas could admit it to himself, perhaps such words had been hinted at when Thranduil had put himself between Legolas and other any person he'd attempted to grow close to, insisting that such people were below him, something Legolas had never believed himself. And, in actuality, since Thranduil and himself were the only two at their station in the whole kingdom, that left no one for Legolas besides his father. 

But how could the king truly see things that way? It had never sat right with the prince. How could the Thranduil rule over these people and see them as less than himself when they were kin?  And the Silvan elves were kin, even if they're weren't of the same direct bloodline.  They certainly weren't livestock to herded. 

With Legolas' unwillingness to back down, even with Thranduil's declaration, platinum blonde hair tossed as Thranduil shook his uncrowned head aggressively, his eyes closing for a moment, revealing his usually well-concealed fury in what was still an attempt to conceal it. His furious eyes then locked back onto his son's. "I gave you the chance to do this on your own terms, but I see I have given you too much rein yet again, something I have regretfully done far too many times in the past." Without warning, Thranduil turned on his heel and stalked away, giving Legolas no chance to respond, except to his back. "We shall talk to your dwarf together then." 

Legolas' breath gone, the prince kept silent, having no desire to incite more fury, and took off after him with his shorter, rushed strides. By the time they reached the dwarf's chambers, Legolas' heart was thudding so fast, his overall body and mind in such an uproar, it all made him feel faint.  

The king's large fist pounded on the door. 

"Come." 

Thranduil looked pointedly to his son.  

Taking the hint, even though he didn't want to, Legolas edged in front of him and opened the door. Gimli's smile, when he saw the prince, died when the dwarf then saw who was behind him. The younger elf stopped in the middle of the room, still some distance from his friend who stood in front of the dresser, who was halfway through dressing. His white hair was dark with water, Gimli probably recently back from the communal bath in the residential halls. 

As Legolas watched concern grow on Gimli's face, the prince's breathing still wasn't completely under control even as he tried to calm himself to, in turn, hopefully calm Gimli back down. Legolas somehow resisted the urge to look behind himself, to see his father's face, an action that wouldn't have helped him in the least.  

Was he really going to do this? Give in to his father's possessiveness and hatred for everything in the world? Do as he was told with barely a protest? Where had the last century gone where Legolas had boldly made his own decisions for the betterment of his people, let alone the last millenniums? 

This wasn't him. This wasn't who his father had raised him to be.  This wasn't the Crowned Prince whom his people still expected to one day rule over them, if his father was ever unable to, whether because of impairment or death. 

But, if Legolas truly needed to excuse his sudden submission, he knew his soul had perished when his father had aloofly raped him for an equally aloof reason. His body just hadn't accepted that fact yet. 

And his mind couldn't accept it either.  

Eyes closing, he drew in a steadying breath, blew it out, and then looked to Gimli. "We're leaving. Now." 

A seeming instant later, Thranduil was behind him, practically against him, and said so quietly at his ear that the prince had to wonder if Thranduil was ashamed of him, "You would defy me at every turn, insufferable child, even when you know the consequences of your actions."  

Know the consequences?! How could Legolas have even remotely guessed at these consequences?!  

His heart going haywire, hands grinding into fists, Legolas thought to turn around to confront him, to tell his father that he was insane, to finally attack. But before he could, Thranduil had an arm around his chest, trapping Legolas' arms, holding him solidly against every curve of the larger body behind him, even with the weapons and quiver at his back that shifted to the side and otherwise scrunched between them. Their closeness took the breath out of him, never mind the grip. 

"Tell him to take his leave," the king somehow purred with a coldness that sent a chill through the younger elf. "...Or would you rather have me demonstrate for him how you are mine." 

And that made Legolas' heart skip a beat as he imagined what exactly that entailed, as his father's grip only tightened.  By the time those imaginings reached their end, in his mind, he was naked underneath his father, every panting breath, every pounding thrust, every drop of sweat, blood, and cum, and every scream for Gimli to witness.  It was the same vision of his nightmares. 

Having no more hope at controlling his breaths, Legolas was terrified. And that was probably exactly what his father had wanted. 

What had suddenly gotten into Thranduil's head that touching him like this was a reasonable way to get what he wanted? They hadn't even touched at all for so many years, even when Legolas had lived in the halls. 

The dwarf's breathing haggard, Gimli took a step forward. Luckily, he didn't have a weapon on him, but if provoked much more, Legolas was sure he'd quickly get his hands on one. Legolas' gaze now glued to his friend, the prince knew needed to deescalate this before someone got hurt. Then the dwarf took another step. 

"Stop!" Legolas blurted out to his friend, "I-I cannot go with you." 

The dwarf clenched his fists, never taking his eyes off of them. Legolas got the distinct feeling Gimli wanted to destroy Thranduil, for more than one reason. Considering Thranduil's and Gimli' pasts that were twined together in mutual hatred, the two of them had never really had a chance at being kind to one another, let alone liking one another.  After all, after what Legolas had done all those years ago to Gimli's father, he himself had been lucky to break that barrier with the dwarf. 

"Do you truly think he believed that?" Thranduil whispered, as cold as ever, as his lips trailed over the edge of his son's ear. 

Legolas' eyes clenched shut. He had never allowed anyone to touch him like this, had never wanted anyone to, such physical contact holding little to no interest for him, outside of what he saw as bodily functions. Not even at that moment was he truly allowing it, his father's touch unsolicited intimidation.  

But no matter what Legolas consciously wanted for himself, the caressing feel of those lips on the sensitive curve of his ear startled him. He couldn't stop the tremor that went through his body, which brought a reactive tightness to his groin he didn't want either. Was his father hoping for this too, a betrayal of his son's body?  He grew ill at the thought. 

In his continued disbelief, trying to understand, the only reason Legolas could think of as to why he was reacting this way was because his father was the one doing it. This elf was someone who was never supposed to touch him like this. And yet Thranduil was. Already had, in fact. 

Although...  Perhaps, if he gave someone, anyone a chance, they could elicit such a reaction from his body as well.  He couldn't be sure one way or another though with nothing to base it on.  He'd stopped touching people so long ago. 

Legolas' eyes snapped back open when he heard rustling in front of him.  

Wide-eyed, muscles trembling, Gimli took another couple of steps forward. "Unhand him, elf, or I swear I will gut you where you stand!" 

Ignoring the enraged dwarf's advancement, the king added, "Not even I believed your words. Try again." 

Legolas' mind was fogging. He didn't know what to say to please both of them, to get them both to stop this. He didn't want to be in the middle of it. He wanted the distance back between himself and his father. He wanted Gimli to stop trying to be his friend for a moment. 

When Legolas said nothing, did nothing for several seconds, Thranduil's other hand came up over his hip, yanking a gasp from Legolas when he realized where it was heading. But then his mind denied it. It couldn't be happening. His father wouldn't dare. Not like this. Not against his will. Again. Certainly not in front of his enraged friend whom he loved so much. 

The hand cupped his groin and then quickly increased the pressure, the resulting, seldom-acquainted sensation unwelcome as it traveled through his nerves. His length hardened responsively at the touch, which, in turn, embittered him.  It felt too much like his own touches from long ago that, while compelling to a certain degree, had nonetheless left him feeling hollow before and after completion. 

When his body's betrayal only continued on, growing heavy at his groin, Legolas remembered he had arms, even if they were trapped.  He gripped his father's violating arm and tried to push and pull it away, even with the odd angle.  When his father's grip tightened, bringing pain and tears to his eyes, he choked out, "Please let me go!"  Those words were meant for much more than merely that moment. 

His father's voice still so absurdly calm, Thranduil commanded, "Tell him." 

"I will not be leaving." Dizzy, overwhelmed, ill, the words sounded distant even to his own ears, even with the strength with which he spoke them. "My father would prefer me to remain here." When the dwarf didn't move, Legolas forced himself to focus his tear-clouded gaze on Gimli and saw that the words had done nothing to settle his friend.  He forced his heart to harden, to save them both.  "Just leave us!  Now, Gimli!" 

Gimli flinched as if he'd been struck. He stood there for a moment, Legolas fearing he wouldn't listen to him, but then stormed around them. The prince heard the door open and slam shut, making his body jolt.  

Now his father would let him go, right? He'd done what Thranduil had asked him to. There was no more reason for Thranduil to be against him. 

But his father didn't let him go. In fact, the direction opposite, the hand at his groin slowly began to caress the semi-hardness there, as if adoring the feel of it, alternating between pumps and fingernails dragging. Becoming lost in the sensations that he suddenly detested and his own rapid heart, Legolas' breaths deepened and his eyelids dropped, as his own body made the shorter elf forget he was supposed to be fighting. In fact, he forgot everything external in those seconds except for his father's touch. 

At the obvious submission, Thranduil growled at his ear, sending a shiver through the shorter elf. Thranduil's hips pressed forward, which made sure Legolas noticed the hardness there.   

The feel of his father's body against him, the heat of it...  Legolas felt so lost in him. 

Against his ear, Thranduil breathed, "Forgive me, I..." 

Lost in himself as well, Legolas barely heard the words, let alone comprehended them to their full extent.  And despite the words, the attentions increased in strength. Legolas couldn't stop his breathless moan deep in his throat as the sensations mounted, his hips pushing forward. When the moan hit his ears though as if a blare of a horn, his trance snapped apart, and he realized again where he was and what he was doing. 

Suddenly he was fighting at his father's grip, trying to get away. To his surprise, his father let him go. Legolas bolted away from him.  

Facing the dresser with nowhere to go except backwards, the prince turned around, needing to see his father's face, needing to understand all of this with the sickening sensations still fluctuating through him.  Queasiness again took over, both at his own reactions and his father in general.  

And the look on Thranduil's face...  

It was like his father had never seen him before in his life. The prince felt the same about his king. 

The mutual, heavy-breathed stare went on for nearly a minute, before Legolas could take it no more. He had to get away from his father, from all of this madness, even if it was only to retreat to his room. He made a wide circle around Thranduil and then rushed out the door when the elf did nothing to stop him. 

Out in the empty hallway, Legolas changed his mind.  He didn't want to be alone again. Instead, he searched out for Gimli and noticed the familiar presence of his friend a short distance away, around a corner.  He didn't pause in meeting him.  He needed to be with the dwarf at that moment, even though he was afraid of how Gimli would look at him now, fearing his nightmares would continue to play out. 

When Legolas stood in front of the dwarf, Gimli looked up.  There were tears in his dark, reddened eyes.  That broke the elf.  He came down onto his knees in front of Gimli, bringing them more or less to even standing, and dropped his head against his friend's shoulder as a half-crazed sob wracked through him.  His hands came up and gripped the dwarf at his sides over his undershirt, feeling coarse hairs underneath the thin fabric. Trembling, but strong arms slowly wrapped around the elf.  

Legolas couldn't say anything. What could he possibly say, especially when his groin still twitched in reaction to his father?  He was so confused and disgusted and angry with himself, with his father, with the order of things, with everything; he couldn't even begin to sort out his emotions. 

"Hush now, laddie," the dwarf growled out in a whisper.  He said no more though, probably as lost in the whole of the situation as Legolas was. 

When Legolas' tears dried out after a few minutes, Gimli's shoulder and chest wet with them, his father thankfully never coming around the corner to confront them, Legolas' voice trembled against the dwarf's chest as he said, "What I said is true. I must remain here. But you must go to Valinor, like we planned.  The elves will take you with them.  They know you have Galadriel's favor." 

Thick hands gripped his cheeks, forcing his head up with minimal effort.  Gimli searched his face, the dwarf's own cheeks and beard wet with tears.  "You expect me to just...  What worth would I have without you, elf?" 

Legolas' body as a whole clenched at those words, as his face crinkled up. "Do _not_ say that. Please..."   

What could he say or do to make the dwarf just go, to slightly appease this heartache? Gimli couldn't remain here. Thranduil wouldn't allow it, he knew.  And Legolas could no longer travel to Valinor.  

But for Legolas to accept them being separated, he also needed to know the dwarf's last days were comfortable and happy.  That couldn't happen out in the wilderness, never mind Legolas' earlier urge to escape with his friend to nowhere. Seeing the dwarf now, Legolas knew Gimli was too aged to merely roam the land, never being sure of his next meal, always looking over his shoulder for danger.  His days alive would only shorten if Legolas was selfish enough to give into the desire to steal him away and never look back. 

And nor could Legolas live again amongst mortals with Gimli.  His heart simply couldn't bear it any longer.  

The elf refocused on his friend and Gimli's eyes spoke of his love for the elf, forcing more tears out of Legolas which the dwarf rubbed at with his rough, dense thumbs. The affection only created more. 

"Your stubbornness, Gimli, will be the death of you..." 

Gimli only smiled, seeming to accept that death. 

Why had this dwarf stayed with him for so many years when Gimli's own kin would see him home? Instead, the dwarf had willingly stayed amongst the abundance of humans and elves, with no true complaint outside of the frequent jest.   

Gimli had never even spoken of marriage.  Legolas could understand that himself though.  His fate had never allowed him to seek a wife and family, lest he curse them with sorrow, and for other reasons, the main one being that he simply didn't want to, especially after feeling the heartache of losing his own mother. 

But... since being with the dwarf, Legolas had felt little sorrow, he realized.  How he had survived his adolescence and adulthood without Gimli, Legolas didn't know.  And now... 

Legolas tried to say sternly, "You will go. And you will be happy." The words proved to be so hard to speak that Legolas' face scrunched up yet again against his will. "And I shall miss you.  So much." 

Then Gimli's mouth pressed against his, stealing Legolas' ability to breathe. The kiss lasted only a moment, but when the dwarf pulled back, it felt like far longer. And that moment proved Thranduil so wrong.  Years were not blinks of an eye to elves, not when that one moment felt like an eternity where everything else, even time, simply stopped.  

Where had that kiss come from?  Shocked by the suddenness of it, Legolas blinked his confusion at the dwarf.  Gimli's face was ruddy now.  A blush? 

...Well, then again, Legolas had a guess where it'd come from.  Years ago, when Gimli had ridden behind him, even with the availability of other horses, Legolas had at times felt the hardness against him, but he'd chosen to ignore it, figuring it was merely a bodily reaction to being against someone on a bumpy ride.  Gimli himself never said or did anything about it, after all.  But now, after all the years together, Legolas wasn't so sure it'd been nothing, especially as he now remembered the caught looks that hadn't been necessary.  And his friend's nearly irrational commitment to him. And, of course, the love between them... 

The elf looked into the dwarf's eyes and saw the truth there that he'd denied existed for so many years. 

 _No, please, no..._ _I_ _cannot bear it..._  

Legolas swallowed, trying to still his mind and body. "You should have told me. How could you not say anything?" 

If Gimli had, surely things would have been so different at this moment.  And now Legolas was cursed to force this dwarf's abandonment. 

Dark eyes looked down, Gimli's breath shuddering, but he refused to say anything.  The stubbornness of dwarves...  But then, not even a minute later, Gimli admitted, "You never looked at this old leathered hide the way I look at you.  Never with anyone, did you.  You..." 

Exasperated, Legolas huffed humorlessly, knowing exactly what Gimli was talking about, despising himself for his shortsightedness. "I admit my thoughts and ambitions lie elsewhere...  But... had I known..." 

And now he knew...   

Wanting so much to please this dwarf, to make him happy, he met the dwarf's lips.  Ignoring Gimli's gasp, indulging in it in fact, Legolas quickly deepened their kiss as if he'd been kissing the shorter person his whole life.  He had the love, anger, regret, and sorrow behind that kiss to make it real.  The hands at his face suddenly gripped harshly, now refusing to let go. 

When the elf felt light-headed from a lack of breath, Gimli pushed him away with his grip, "Never think for a moment I could go traipsing about over the sea for some ill-conceived fantasy, one all in your thick head. How could even just a day could be contented without you?" 

The words brought renewed tears and suffering to the elf.  Instead of letting them flow, he stood, grabbed Gimli's hand, pulled him back to the dwarf's bedchamber.  When he opened the door, his father wasn't there anymore.  When he'd initially dragged the dwarf back in here, he hadn't been so sure what he was going.  But now, alone, he knew he wanted this dwarf to know how much he loved him, to please him in any way he could before he was forced to make him leave.  He was more than willing to show him that in the way Gimli had apparently wanted for far too long. 

Legolas slammed the door shut behind them, locked it, and then fell back to his knees.  He kissed the dwarf again, undressing him blindly. Rough, hurried hands worked on Legolas' straps and clothing, letting it all clunk and drop to the floor. 

Gimli naked, himself almost naked, the prince stood, stripped off the rest, and then pulled Gimli to the bed, where he came to know every part of him. Learned what made the dwarf tremble and moan.  Found a home deep inside his tightness until the dwarf came with a shuddering cry.  

But... it all felt so wrong, although that had nothing to do with the dwarf himself. Legolas knew it was merely his messed-up mind unwilling to tell the difference between physical pleasure and pain, both leaving him wanting them to stop, had always relished in neutrality for as long as he could remember.  It was a big reason why he'd never willingly suffered such closeness before that moment.  But with Gimli, the last thing making love to him could be was suffering, except in the fact that they would soon be forced to part ways.  Never mind that Legolas knew he'd be the one doing all the forcing. 

The days that followed were some of the happiest and saddest the elf had ever experienced. He made love to the dwarf repeatedly, whenever they could.  On the bed, on the floor, against a table, in a tub, in the hallways, in every possible way, whenever they could get their hands on each other without prying eyes. Legolas had years and years of stupidity and blindness to make up for, after all. At first, in face of Gimli's confusion and concern, he faked his pleasure.  Eventually though, it wasn't so fake, as Leoglas lost his worry and doubt and just enjoyed the moments they had together.  

No, the sexual aspect of their contact could never be what the dwarf wanted for him, but that didn't mean Legolas couldn't feel at all.  By the end of the week, he warmed at their closeness, their touch.  He didn't want it to end. 

And during that time, when it apparently became obvious to Gimli that something was very wrong, Legolas also told Gimli the truth of what had happened.  Of course, the dwarf had exploded with the need to annihilate Thranduil.  It had taken all Legolas' strength, both physically and mentally, to stop him. Then, when the dwarf had calmed down, which had taken a good couple of hours, Gimli had denied Legolas' conclusion, saying that elves could never be that stern and cold-blooded, especially not his beloved Galadriel.  But Gimli was wrong.  Elves could be and were. 

In those days, Legolas also didn't see his father, so when the day came to see the group off, he was doing it completely of his own free will.   

During that last hour, quietly, they sat on Gimli's bed, while the dwarf finished Legolas' left braid, the final one.   

The task almost done, his throat tight, the elf whispered, "You _will_ find happiness there." 

"Shut your mouth, elf," the dwarf growled, the words edged in a resentment that revolved probably as much around Legolas as it did Legolas' father, and probably around the dwarf himself and his inability to change Legolas' mind. 

Legolas swallowed and looked to the floor, everything in him pained.  At the last tie, Legolas stood, walked away, and watched his lover near the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.  Gimli had never packed so slowly in his entire life, especially considering he didn't have much to begin with. 

Strapping on his axe's scabbard, Gimli said, "The gods know I would be right to bundle you in a sheet and drag you with me."  He blew out a ragged breath, shouldered his pack, and turned to the waiting elf.  "I will ask Galadriel for forgiveness for you.  She can see reason." 

The elf stepped forward.  "No.  No word of this shall ever leave our mouths.  I will not go.  Even if I would be allowed to enter Valinor, I cannot bear to have them look at me with pity and disgust day after day. I would rather remain here." 

"With your father." 

"Yes..." 

The dwarf shook his head, his teeth gritted, his every large muscle tense. "I will send word back when I have her approval." 

Fear, embarrassment, and anger exploded in Legolas, forcing him another couple of steps forward before he stopped and clenched his fists.  "You will not!" 

"Do _not_ tell me what I will and will not do, elf," Gimli's rough voice blared as he charged forward, meeting the elf head on.  "You lost that right today!"  Then the dwarf shoved his way past the elf and through the door, leaving Legolas behind. 

Unwelcome tears came again to the elf's eyes. Wiping harshly at them, he ground his teeth together and then started after his friend.  He caught up to him quickly and walked with him in silence to the door where the other elves and horses waited for them on the other side.   

The early morning sun was blinding after the relative darkness of the tunnel. The air was as crisp as it'd been a week before.  Legolas ignored the chill though in favor of the commotion.  The elves gave their prince their nods, smiles, goodbyes, as well as some strange frowns that Legolas found difficult to ignore, but he did.   

When Gimli mounted though, the dwarf wouldn't even look at him.  Legolas grabbed the horse's bridle before the dwarf could turn the horse around. 

Legolas' throat constricted, but he forced out, "Gimli... Please..." 

Hard, narrowed eyes looked down at him.  Then white hair and braids fluttered as the bearded dwarf began to shake his head.  Then tears came to his eyes.  Gimli bent down, grabbed Legolas' tunic, and kissed him harshly in front of all of the elves.  A decided hush washed over the area, but Legolas couldn't care.  This was the first and probably only time any of these elves would ever see him kiss another in such a way.  He wanted them to know how much he loved his friend, praying they'd in turn take good care of Gimli for him. 

When the dwarf pulled away, he whispered, "Keep an ear open." 

Legolas began to shake his head, but Gimli merely sat up completely, turned his horse, and bid it to trot away, getting a head start on the path and away from the elf who suddenly felt so trapped in himself.  And that was exactly what his father had wanted. 


	4. Forcing Freedom

With unshed tears, after Legolas lost sight of the dwarf, he closed his eyes, finally forcing the tears to slide down his ashen cheeks, and shakily breathed in the chilly morning air. The forest called to him, but he couldn't listen. He couldn't flee between the trees, even with every part of him screaming to do just that. He knew he'd end up tailing the dwarf, end up back at his side, against him even, if he did, and then all of the fight over the last few days would have been for naught. 

And then the fight would start all over again because being together wouldn't change reality nor fate.  

No, he wouldn't do it all over again. He couldn't bear it.  

And... if this was now his reality, then the last thing Legolas wanted to be faced with was life. So, instead of fleeing inevitably to the dwarf, he fled in the opposite direction. He stormed back into the fortress, probably much to his father's perverse satisfaction wherever he was hiding himself, and locked himself again in his room.  

A few hours later, when a steaming plate of food that turned the elf's stomach was brought to him, his servant informed him that the fortress had been sealed, his father forbidding anyone to leave or enter.  And Legolas knew it was only to trap him inside, even though his father hadn't actually given a reason. Nor did he have to. He was king. His decisions, as long as they were semi-reasonable, held. Although, soon, when the stores grew thin, the doors would have to reopen. 

But that seemed an eternity away and no longer mattered to the prince. This room, these halls, this kingdom, the whole of Middle Earth was a crypt to him. That was all it would ever be to him now. 

Again, Legolas only allowed his servant into his room to fulfil his duties, even as Legolas again wished he could banish him as well. After all, the Silvan elf's cautious but probing stares made Legolas' cheeks redden and his pulse race. The elf clearly knew something, most likely considerably more than Legolas wanted him to know.  That was always the way with servants, the silent eyes and ears of any higher power. But the male also never said more than necessary, which meant almost nothing at all was spoken. And the prince certainly wasn't about to volunteer the reasons for his second seclusion, no matter what the servant might have known. 

That night, Legolas' nightmares returned with a vengeance to torment him.  He awoke with a cry on his lips, sweat-stained sheets, and the urge to vomit. His whole body quaking, tears came and he couldn't stop them, even when he sat up and punitively pushed at his sleep-reddened eyes.  

Why did even his sleeping mind want to think about his father, his dead mother, and the dwarf he'd forced away? Especially when it all only made him suffer. Why was it so determined to be miserable? Surely there was a logical reason for it.  

But he couldn't understand that reason. Nor would his sleeping mind let the visions go. So he stopped sleeping.   

For three days, he didn't sleep, even while faced with the same walls, hour after hour.  He spent the majority of his time flowing through intricate training patterns, his daggers extensions of his arms.  When he wore himself out again and again, panting on the floor, he jerked himself awake with every nod-off.  When he could catch his breath, he restarted, again and again.  He knew refusing to sleep was only making his state of mind much worse, but he couldn't face the vivid dreams anymore, not when he had a choice. 

By the third night, while lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, his mind and body rioting against him, his mind starting to see the dreams even while he was awake, he couldn't stand it all anymore. He was certain he was on the path to insanity.   

Surely it would have been easier to simply go insane, even more sensible. But some incomprehensible part of him refused to let him go down that road.  

And that part made a decision for him: he had to get out, one way or another. 

The doors of the fortress would surely open in just a few more days at most, he knew, but he suddenly couldn’t wait that long. He knew he couldn't last. But to leave at that moment, to get some semblance of a life back, he had to stop his father from standing in his way.  

...Well, really, he had to stop his father from standing at all.  

In truth, that was the only way to be truly free, to not have to look over his shoulder for millenniums to come.  

To kill his own flesh and blood... 

Suddenly gritting his teeth, the dark thoughts were repugnant, even to his sleep-deprived, half-crazed mind, and drove his pulse to seem louder than his heavy breaths through his nose. But his gaze still latched onto the daggers on the dresser.  

Without further, mind-changing thought, he was off the bed, stalking to the dresser, yanking one long blade out of its sheath, and then was out the door, making his way to his father's bedchamber. The only elf he encountered was his servant whose open door allowed him to hear Legolas' needs and his arrivals and departures. This time was no different, the elf sitting up on his bed and watching him storm by. Legolas didn't even turn his head to acknowledge him but knew he was there. 

Any time a thought came up, the prince shoved it away with a violent shake of his head, his unbraided hair getting in his face and sticking to it with the sweat there, before he raked it back every time with his free hand. He knew he couldn't think or he'd stop dead in his tracks. The consequences were too easy to see even now. If he thought about them, this would never end. 

The door to his father's bedchamber was unlocked and well oiled, the king too confident in his control. It made no noise as Legolas crept inside and edged it closed behind himself. He treaded silently over the stone and rugs with his bare feet and thin, soft, dampening underclothes.  

In the dim lamplight, he could see his father's sleeping form. On his back, Thranduil was lying with a hand over his chest and near the middle of a bed large enough to hold a half dozen full-grown elves with room to toss and turn. The room was pleasantly warm by way of the living stone, even with the impending winter. As such, a thin blanket draped low on Thranduil's stomach, baring just a portion of his hips. His long hair spread out on the dark sheet and pillow like liquid silver. It seemed longer than when Legolas had left, he noted now. 

From what the prince could see of Thranduil's pale skin and the unrestrained outline of his length, his father was quite naked, but he'd expected that. His father had always slept with barely a hint of modesty, except when Legolas had been a child and had come running to his room in the middle of the night, tearful from a nightmare. Then, his father had slipped on a nightshirt and allowed him into his bed. 

But now... with the new knowledge of what this strong body could do to him, would do to him, the younger elf was dazed enough by the sight to have his breath taken away. 

His grip on the dagger turned white-knuckled as his breathing unavoidably picked up, his mind still set but having unwanted second thoughts.  

He'd killed many in his three millenniums alive, ruthlessly, without hesitation. But here, he hesitated and for obvious reasons, just as he knew he would. But now, added into the mix of consequences, was a fact the prince could no longer deny, not as sleep made his father lose all of his hate, lust, and ambition: 

This elf lying before him _was_ his father, the one who'd loved him before his mother had died and raised him alone after. No, Legolas hadn't had the most beautiful childhood and adolescence, but... 

Tears came to his eyes again as his face crinkled up. He swallowed back the threatening sob, lest he wake his father. Then he clenched his eyes shut and fought to regain control. He'd known this hesitation was going to happen. He just needed control. He needed to forget who this elf was so that he could retake control over his life and make it better, even if only by a fraction. 

With a sucked-in, held breath, he crawled up on the plush bed, the mattress only sinking in where he was at that moment, and to his father's side. Sitting up, but leaning forward, he put the long dagger a breath away from his father's neck. 

It would be so, so easy to end this. So unbelievably easy.  

Yet he couldn't do it.  

He let the breath out slowly through slightly parted lips. 

 _Just... Just stop thinking. This elf is no different than another other savage beast I've killed._  

But that was a lie. And that was why the dagger wouldn't move. He could only stare at it, white metal against pale skin. He imagined red in the mix, leaking down onto platinum-blonde hair and melding with the dark blue sheets. His stomach twisted. 

But it would be so, so easy... 

His eyes flickered to his father's face. His breath caught in his throat before he looked back. Icy blue eyes looked directly into his own. Yet his father didn't move, did nothing to stop him. Merely stared at him, waiting to see what he would do. His breaths hadn't even picked up. 

Those cold eyes broke the younger elf's exhausted, overly-stretched mind down. Horrible tears came to Legolas' eyes again and dripped down onto his father's arm, before they broke a sob out of him. The sharp blade shook with the shuddering sob, threatening to draw blood, but he didn't dare move it away. He didn't trust this elf. He couldn't even trust himself once his father's hands were on him as the other day had proved. So, the dagger stayed. 

With the sobs, at Thranduil's continued silence and near detachment, for some reason words gushed out from Legolas, ones that had been plaguing him for over a week as they had repeated in his mind over and over again, a mantra of misery: "Why did you do this to me, if you mean to have nothing to do with me? Why even bother with it? It cannot be because..." 

The prince's cheeks flaming up, when he couldn't finish, at the long pause, Thranduil pushed him with, "Because..." 

Legolas refocused on his father, the questioning word sobering him somewhat. "Because..." he managed to get out before another choked sob came out. "...because you want me. You have _never_ wanted me! I have never been good enough for you! No matter how I try to please you. So why... Why would you take my life away from me? Take my -" He stopped the words when he realized what he was saying. He couldn't admit that out loud, too ashamed, its loss a curse onto him. 

"Take what from you?" 

Suddenly glaring at his father, getting angry with Thranduil's feigned ignorance, Legolas croaked out of his tight throat, "You know what!" But then, looking into his father's eyes, the prince began to think that perhaps he was assuming too much and the elf didn't know. "You..." The words trailed off, unable to find a way out.  He shook his head and tried again with, "You-you took the last thing that was mine alone without even asking me. And you failed to even enjoy taking it! You could have at least asked me before you forced your way into me! I..." He tore his gaze away, his face crimson. 

When Thranduil said nothing, did nothing, himself overly confused by everything, Legolas suddenly wondered if he would he have given his virginity to his father, had he asked. He didn't know. His mind had been so set on leaving when he'd come here. He tried to picture his father asking for permission to claim his body, to assure that he would stay here with his father for all eternity. The idea quickened his pulse, even as it made him ill.  

 _No._ He shook his head to emphasize the thought.  _N_ _o,_ _I_ _wouldn't have. This i_ _sn't what_ _I'd wanted. This is_ _n't what_ _I want_ _now!_  

Newly disgusted with everything, Legolas wanted to get away, to retreat back to his room and never come out again, or, at the very least, recoup for the next, well, probably failed attack. The prince pulled the dagger away from his father's throat and tried to pull his whole body away along with it, but his father grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him back, closer even. 

"You had no other before me?" The possessive heat in the elder elf's eyes... 

As his father's heat unwittingly added to Legolas' own out-of-control emotions, the prince had to look away as he gave a quick shake of his head, sending loose hair over his face. And then he hid behind that hair, wishing to be anywhere but nearly against his father.  

As Thranduil's breathing hitched, Legolas realized that he shouldn't have answered, shouldn't have said anything to begin with, but, already on a roll, wanting his father to understand what he'd done to his son, Legolas whispered, "I wanted no one," and then hissed, with a slight jerk away from the elf that did nothing to aid his escape, "And certainly not you." 

The air held those words for a couple of minutes, along with their heavy breathing. Then the forefinger at Legolas' arm began to caress his goose-bumping flesh, sending a shiver through him. 

Thranduil asked with an odd tension in his voice, "And now?" 

The prince looked down at his father's empty face which betrayed nothing, thankfully not even anger. At that moment, even after everything, Thranduil was still so beautiful it made him ache. Did his father have even the slightest clue how much he loved him? No, he'd never wanted him as a lover, just as he'd never wanted anyone else as one, but he'd always wanted Thranduil as a father, the father he used to know. He wanted that elf so much.  

But Legolas also didn't want to spend the rest of eternity wanting what he couldn't have and regretting what he did have. And he would never get what he wanted if he only submitted to this elf. Couldn't his father at least acknowledge that, if not respect him and his wishes like he'd done often enough over the years, to give Legolas some hope? 

Thranduil's other hand came up and cupped his cheek, as sudden heat blared in the elder elf's eyes, heat Legolas melted at, wanting that feeling. So badly. It felt so much better than rage and hate. 

And then, as Legolas was pulled closer and said nothing in reply to Thranduil's query, there was something else in his father's eyes, something hard and too familiar, which instantly made the younger elf tense. His father could shift his emotions so quickly; it was challenging to keep up with them.  

The hand at his cheek shifted back, softly, a sharp contrast to Thranduil's face, and weaved into his hair. When it was at the back of Legolas' head, Thranduil growled, "Well, did you at least enjoy fucking that dwarf in my halls, you who wants no one?" 

When the reason for Thranduil's sudden fury sank in, fear surged through the younger elf. He realized his father was jealous. Of Gimli. And he found himself so glad the dwarf had left. 

Was there anything his father didn't know? Then again, the prince had done disturbingly little to hide his escapades.  

Wide-eyed, Legolas tried to yank himself away, but the hands had already formed iron grips. The one on his arm felt bruising. The other one would have only been removable by losing chunks of hair. When he thought to use his dagger, Thranduil probably felt the subconscious movement of Legolas' arm, as the king suddenly let go of Legolas' arm, violently twisted the dagger out of his hand, making his son call out in pain, before throwing it so that it clattered on the stone floor far away from them. 

Thranduil thrust himself upright with his free arm, probably trying to use his larger body as a deterrent to further fight, and then jerked Legolas' head with the grip he had on his hair. "Tell me, child, did you enjoy it?! Seeing it fit to soil every inch of stone with your depravity, and with a _dwarf_ no less?!" 

Even though everything in Legolas screamed to defend himself, to attack and end this quickly, the prince stopped all of his fight. He knew he couldn't win against his father, not in this fashion. His father was a match for him, if not a greater fighter. And much stronger. It was better to simply take the harsh treatment until he could gain better leverage against him so that he could get away, killing him no longer even a thought.  Now, he just wanted to get away.  

His head jerked again in the grip. "Answer me, you lying whore!" 

When the prince didn't answer in a reasonable amount of time, only sat in pain with his eyes and teeth clenched shut, Thranduil used the grip to shove Legolas' body and face against the bed. The younger elf couldn't breath as he was smothered and finally fought. When the older elf seemingly realized his troubles, he merely turned Legolas' head to turn to the side with the grip. Legolas sucked in a breath, his heart raging. But at least his father didn't seem to see it fit to kill him outright.  

Then again... His own death would make all of this so much simpler.... 

With his larger body leaning over his son, near his ear, his breath smelling strongly of wine, Thranduil growled, "I was going to give you your distance, something you so obviously want. _That_ I was willing to give you, as long as you remained here. Now you come in here with the intent of killing me. And, on top of it all, you see it fit to lie to me, again and again, abhorrent creature!" 

Legolas couldn't help his exasperated hack of a laugh. "Abhorrent?! You speak of yourself!"  

A yelp escaped the prince when his thin pants were yanked down with the sound of ripping threads, revealing his tense buttocks. Then, after a moment of quiet, Thranduil let his hand feather over the revealed skin. Furious in his panic, Legolas wanted to try to twist away, but it wouldn't have helped. So he laid there are took it. 

Still near his ear, Thranduil purred, "What has made you so foolish, coming in here like this? Do you crave death?" The hand cupped a cheek and spread him gently, a stark contrast to the grip on his hair. Legolas sucked in a breath. In turn, Thranduil released a heavy breath that ended with a soft moan. "You think so ill of me that..."  

The words were said with such icy bitterness that Legolas' trembled. He realized then that he wasn't going to walk out of that room unmolested unless he did something. Especially when the hand began to kneed, separating his cheeks repeatedly. Legolas groaned weakly as his length reacted.  

"Or perhaps you _do_ want me..."  

When the larger elf's body came on top of him, Legolas remembered that his father was already naked. The hardness at Thranduil's groin pressed against his crack.  

"Father, please!" 

Demanding hips began to pump at his crack, dryly driving the length against him, the only slickness from their damp skin. The repeated, strong thrusts, that rocked the bed, creaking it, driving Legolas' own hips into the bed, were so primal that blood pushed into his own length against his will.  

With heavy breaths, Thranduil whispered at his ear, "If you had truly wanted to be free of me, Legolas, you never should have come home. Did you truly think I would let you go?" 

But the prince had never wanted to be free of his father, not completely, anyway. Not until now. And even at that moment, he would have forgiven everything if they could have gone back in time, before the rape, and left this place together.  

But that wasn't happening. He was trapped in this life, and he knew that.  

So, at that point... since he couldn't go back in time, he would have at least turned his head away from all that his father was doing, if not forgiven him. Even at that moment he would have, but only if his father would have stopped trying to fuck him. 

Trying to bring out reason in his father's head, Legolas sputtered, "I..." Thranduil shifted down the length of his son's body a bit and the cock pressed against his entrance, as Legolas finally managed through his heavy breaths and pounding heartbeat, "I just want you to love me, like you used to!" 

The king paused his assault at the words, groaning lightly, his breaths heavy and aroused. "I do love you, my beautiful child. So, so much that it kills me, that I cannot even be sure what is left of me..." 

The words made Legolas lightheaded. Or perhaps that came from the pressed tip against his unprepared hole.  

Unthinkingly, or perhaps some part of him thinking, the shorter elf blurted out, "Could you at least use something, you bastard?!" 

That stopped Thranduil completely, even his breaths for a moment. 

And then the room was an eruption of chaos.  The bedchamber door slammed against the inner wall. Clanking metal rattled the whole of the air, although Legolas' head was turned away from it and he couldn't see the cause. 

His father jerked away from him, letting him go, sitting at his side, shouting, "What is the meaning of this?! You are forbidden to enter here!" 

Legolas used that time to turn his head and witness over a dozen Silvan guards entering the dimly lit room, with probably many more out in the hallway from the sound of it. Spears, swords, and arrows were drawn against his partial nakedeness and his father's full nakedness.  The prince jolted away as well, turning over, sitting up, trying to pull his pants back up in the process over his hardness.  The headboard stopped his movement backwards before he realized the weapons weren't pointed at him.  They were pointed at his father.  

Someone grabbed his upper arm, although he didn't see who with his wide eyes staring at Thranduil, and then yanked him off of the bed, so that he was forced to stumble to his feet.  The continued dragging wasn't helping as another set of hands latched onto him.  Nor was his absolute fear and confusion over what was happening helping.  And then, everything unreal, like a dream wrapped in his dizziness, fear, over-exhaustion, and his body's dampening arousal, he was out of the room. He didn't hear his father's voice again as he was forced away, although he did hear someone else speaking, even though he couldn't make out her words.

...Then again, was this all a dream? He hoped it was, even while some rational part of him was nonetheless glad it wasn't. Or was that the irrational part?


	5. Deserving Punishment

In the hallway, a few steps away from his father's open door, the grips on his arms almost loose and just enough to keep him upright and moving forward, Legolas barely heard the quiet, "Take him to the drawing room," in his muddled mind.

Although Legolas hadn't heard the voice for over a century, he recognized it. That recognition was what lifted his eyes to watch two council members rush past him and his entourage. Legolas craned his head around to stare after them, but lost them when they entered the bedchamber. When the prince looked back ahead with wide-eyes, he saw another small group of dignitaries coming from farther down the elongated tunnel, their heavy breaths and whispers echoing more than their slippered footsteps. In disheveled sleeping clothes and thrown on robes, the elves hadn't even attempted to tame their hair. Traces of sleep still reddened their eyes.

Now a bit slack jawed as well at the sight of them, if Legolas had to guess, every last member of the council was converging onto his father's bedchamber at that moment. And the fact that they had come so late in the night...

Legolas realized all of it together meant only one thing: Something was about to be decided. Of course, considering the determination in their faces, perhaps something already had been.

The latter notion thrashed a wave of nausea and thoughts through Legolas' already trampled body and mind. Each thought laid the groundwork for the next darker one. Quickly enough, fear trembled his body and made him lose his footing. Responsively tightening grips ended up being the only things that kept him upright.

After a few more disjointed steps and horrific thoughts, his fear was only for his father, his King, who hadn't put up a fight outside of his initial shout, who'd remained behind while Legolas himself was being rushed away. He'd left Thranduil to face their kin alone in that all too familiar bedchamber, a room that would surely not offer the same warm protection to Thranduil now as it had to Legolas as a child.

And then, his thoughts black with the knowledge of what his father had done to him and the punitive consequences of those action, he suddenly feared for his father's life.

The irony of that fear wasn't lost on him. After all, just minutes before, he'd had the full intent of killing his father himself. But he'd stopped. He hadn't been able to do it. The idea that his father could be facing death again...

Panicking, Legolas found his strength and took on his own weight. The grips on him loosened a bit. Then, before they turned the corner, when Legolas could barely hear the commotion in his father's room, it took little effort to jerk out of their grips and sprint straight back to his father on bare feet. He shoved past the guards, who weren't expecting an assault from that side, and staggered back into the bedchamber.

Now dressed in a thin nightshirt, Thranduil was walking towards him, well, past him. The elf wouldn't meet Legolas' eyes. Instead, the king stared straight forward and, being escorted by a group of armed elves and council members, walked out of the extravagant bedchamber that had been Thranduil's unquestioningly for millenniums.

At that point, so lost in himself and the sight of his father, Legolas didn't feel the hands gripping him, restraining him when he tried to rush forward. What he did feel was so much pain, anger, bewilderment, that he called out, "Father!" as Legolas lost sight of the elf around the corner. He fought at the body then pressing against him, holding him back.

"My Lord, be still! Your ordeal is over!"

When fighting against the body and sets of arms did nothing, Legolas instead turned his focus completely on the elf against him and realized it was his servant. The violence of his emotions then focused on that one target.

Despite the grips on his arms, Legolas grabbed the elf by the sleeping shirt, practically hauling him off his feet, and shouted, "What madness has taken you?! He is your king!"

The hands now bruising Legolas' arms jerked them behind the prince's back, restraining him with a forcefulness these elves had never dared to touch him with before.

Taking a step back, his servant stared at the prince, wide-eyed, one hand rubbing at an arm that was surely sprouting a lovely array of bruises. Quietly, oh-so-quietly that Legolas could barely hear him over his own panicking breaths, the elf said, "No. He is not."

The words felt like a battering ram to Legolas' gut. The words were blasphemy. The words could never, ever hold any truth, no matter that his blade had been at his father's throat mere minutes before. After all, even in death, his father would have still been king.

 

 

"Father!"

While catching sight of his son's tormented face already pounding Thranduil's blood, Legolas' calling out the endearment jolted Thranduil's body. Hopefully their parade of rushed footsteps hid that fact. The single word though, it ended up basically being an accusing slap to the king's face, whether or not Legolas had intended it as such.

The elves' rage clotted around him. That didn't surprise him, considering the charges the head counselor had presented after they'd forced their way into his bedchamber.

Thranduil knew exactly what he'd done, where as these elves around him could only guess and accuse. But, to their credit, they were right for the most part. Yes, he'd violated his only child, repeatedly, in a pool of lust Thranduil had been unable squelch while swimming in his fury and frustration over what he couldn't control and, if he was honest with himself, had no right to control. He also knew the ramifications his actions against both himself and his son. He'd always known. He was no child.

So why do it? It was a question he couldn't answer and appear sane at the same time. Who would call someone who'd discovered a lust for their own child sane?

Thranduil shoved the thoughts away as the Silvan elves lead him to the bowels of the underground fortress with the promise of death in their every step. He didn't fight it because he knew he deserved punishment. He deserved their disgusted stares and retribution against him. He so, so deserved those things.

So, yes, he marched with the Silvan elves into the darkness. He let them try to preserve what righteousness this kingdom had left.

If only they'd bothered to do it sooner...

The air grew thick with moisture as they descended stairways into places hardly a soul entered, that he himself had seen only a handful of times despite living in the halls for thousands of years. And, as the darkness grew, suddenly, the reality of what was about to happen became all too real. Slaps against stone echoed under the soldiers' feet, jolting Thranduil back into reality even as he tried to lose himself in his mind. Bile rose in the back of his throat when a guard opened a barred door to some obscure cell. Thranduil stepped inside, turned around, and stared back at the grave and enraged faces as the door closed again with a loud clank.

The head councilor stepped forward, dividing a crowd that was reluctant to look away from the spectacle of their king behind bars. She stared at Thranduil for a few moments, her normally serene face barely covering her wrath. "Upon the crowning of our king, your fate shall be decided. Until then, may the seconds be centuries unto you as you imagine your fate. Your suffering shall comfort my sleep."

Thranduil couldn't help a smirk. If she comprehended his profound ability to suffer underneath his stoic gaze, she'd sleep well indeed.

At his smirk, she huffed her disgust and growled, "Give this creature nothing. No food, no water. Even the rodents that creep at his feet are above him. He deserves nothing but death." Then she turned on her heel, and stalked back up the stone steps.

Thranduil continued to stare at her as he came to think upon her first words: _Crowning of their king?_

She couldn't have meant... But who else could she have meant?

Just the idea of his son taking on the burden Thranduil himself resented every day of his life... No, there was no way he could allow them to make his son king.

As if he could put a stop to the fate the Silvan elves had decided as trapped as he presently was. He couldn't protect his son from anything, besides perhaps himself. And the whole of that was completely and utterly his own fault.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because it took a while for the rest to follow after the head councilor in small groups and after a sufficient bit of ogling. Barely containing himself, Thranduil stared back until the last one left.

In near darkness, alone, it was nearly impossible to count the passing of hours. Eventually, Thranduil sat down on the stone slab that served as a poor, icy, punishing excuse for a bed. When he reclined back, he flinched at the coldness at his back, seeping through the thin cloth of his silk nightshirt. Soon enough though, he either grew used to it or the stone warmed to him.

Dwelling over everything he'd done and everything he hadn't and no longer could do, the apparently former king didn't know how long it'd been before he felt the growing nearness of the one elf who shouldn't have been drawing near. Yet he was.

In the darkness, with his eyes closed, Thranduil whispered to himself, "Legolas, you foolish creature... Why do you do this? To either of us?"

Thranduil let his head fall back to rest against the stone. Despite the anomalous lustful need for his son that had grown overwhelming over the previous days, Thranduil couldn't believe that, after so many irreparable mistakes, his child still found the will to come to him.

Finally, Legolas' soft-soled boots whispered to stand in front of the cell door. The younger elf stood there for nearly a minute, saying nothing, barely breathing, as Thranduil's heart thudded in his chest. The king kept his eyes closed though, his head back, his body deceitfully relaxed. He couldn't show the turmoil his son caused in him lest he scare Legolas away.

_But, surely, that should be my goal now. Surely it'd be better for him, for us both, for him to never see me again. What I know now is inside of me, I fear it as I've never feared before._

Before his son had come back home, Thranduil had always thought himself to reasonable, for the most part at least, even if his rage at times consumed him, but now... Now he had no idea what he was capable of and it terrified him.

His child sucked in a shuddering breath and then let it out slowly. Thranduil couldn't help but open his eyes and turn his head to look. Legolas had his head against the bars, eyes tightly closed as his face pinched in an obvious effort to hold back tears.

"They mean to make me king," Legolas blurted out after a shuddering breath, "King, father, something you prepared me for, I know. But now... They cannot seem to understand that I have no desire to, that this place... This... All of this... Why, father..." Legolas choked down a sob. "Why did you do this to me?"

Everything evaporated in the face of his son's anguish. What was left was the need to end Legolas' heartache, to take back everything he'd done and wanted to do in the last weeks, but he couldn't do any of that. He couldn't even say he was sorry since that would have done nothing for Legolas either. Instead, Thranduil merely worked to restrain his own tears.

But surely there were options for Legolas, however few they might have been. Surely he could flee this place, although to where, thanks to him?

What was it that held Legolas here?

Even as Thranduil considered it, he knew there could still only be one answer, the same one as before: He'd forced his son to remain here, and Legolas saw no other option, at least none that could be better than this.

Wanting to change something that never could be changed, so badly, the moment Thranduil shifted, pulling away from the wall and turning his body towards the barred door, Legolas shoved himself away from it, staring at him wide-eyed. Then the prince rushed back up the stairs with Thranduil unable to chase despite his desire to do just that. No, Thranduil was left to rot alone in the misery he'd created for them both.

Hours later, perhaps even a day later, he couldn't know for sure with light that never changed, the last elf Thranduil expected to see showed up at his barred doorstep.

Although he knew Tauriel well, loved her even in the depths of his heart, Tauriel still only reminded him of how she'd driven a wedge between him and his son whenever he saw her guarded face. At that moment though, lost in his misery, hunger, and sleeplessness, he couldn't muster up the will to care. In fact, he realized then that she should have done a better job of driving that wedge. But he couldn't say that. His pride wouldn't let him.

The young elf studied him for a short while, perhaps single-handedly deciding his fate, before she pulled a ring of keys from her longcoat. She quickly found the right key, almost before he realized her intent, although he would have better understood had she drawn her bow against him.

"Tauriel..." The key slipped inside the hole. "What are you doing?"

The sentinel cracked a smile she'd rarely dared in his presence, right before she turned the key. But the smile offered no warmth. "Indeed, what am I doing?" Her smile faded to almost nothing. "I have been ordered to fetch you."

Had she been ordered to single-handedly to bring him before the council? Thranduil's stomach to twist at the idea, despite him already knowing his fate, but, now that the moment was presenting itself, well, any creature with some will to live would have recoiled. "Where do you bring me?"

"To someone you shall never deserve."

Legolas.

Despite the truthfulness in her words that Thranduil couldn't deny no matter how much he wanted to, the words boiled his mind and tightened his every muscle. Only millenniums of practiced control kept his fury in check. Barely.

Was Tauriel truly so nonchalant in her belief that Thranduil was subdued, perhaps conveniently forgetting his quickness to anger, that she'd speak her mind so freely? Or perhaps she was ready for a fight. Again. With himself weaponless, she might have even stood a chance if she'd kept her distance and brought him down with the bow secured to her taunt body.

The sentinel opened the door. When Thranduil stood and took a step forward, she refused to move, standing stiffly, threat in her every breath.

Thranduil couldn't deny the knowing accusation in her eyes. "He told you."

"No. He never had to. Everyone knows what you have done without a word from him." Tauriel tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she considered the much larger elf. "Yet, he would like to see your face, something I shall never understand. To spare him, I should kill you where you stand, but he would never forgive me, despite the lack of sense that makes." She took a step forward, her hands fisting. " _You_ are the one he should never forgive."

Thranduil stared down at her, absorbing the words, knowing every single one was true. For the second time in his life as he stared at her suddenly stricken face, he admitted the truth buried in his heart to her: "Sooner death should ravage my body and soul than my son be forced to be in my presence."

The young elf blinked at him, obvious confusion overcoming her. Then she gave him the slightest nod. "At least we agree upon that. But he has asked for you." She gave him one final look over before she stepped away, heading towards the stairs that would lead them back up into the light. "Come. We must hurry. He will not be left to his grief much longer."

Instead of taking Thranduil to a place that held a good chance of running across others, they went up only a couple of levels and then turned towards a cropping of storage rooms that still saw little light. They walked for several minutes before she turned into one room and stopped a short distance inside. Thranduil was right behind her.

Sitting on a crate, fingernails picking at its discolored wood, it wasn't difficult to spot his son. The elf's hair shone like spun gold even in the dim torchlight. His white sleeping clothes, he apparently still hadn't changed out of, spoke of the purity Legolas had confessed Thranduil had stolen away from him hours before.

That his son had never known another before him... Thranduil knew there wasn't a word or deed he could say or do to correct what he'd done.

Legolas turned his head, his eyes immediately meeting Thranduil's. He stared for several moments before, his gaze met Tauriel's. "Leave us."

Tauriel's whole body stiffened. Thranduil wasn't surprised. Now noticing the darkness under his son's eyes, the paleness of his skin, his untrusting eyes, Thranduil was shocked by Legolas' order himself, because his son obviously wasn't in his right mind. Considering Thranduil couldn't even trust his own mind, being alone with Legolas couldn't possibly have been what was best.  So much so, that Thranduil opened his mouth to order Tauriel to stay, but she had already turned around and was stalking away.

When Thranduil looked back a moment later, he saw that the younger elf watched the former king so closely, his gaze never leaving Thranduil's face. Legolas barely even breathed. Thranduil had rarely seen his son so quiet, so still before and certainly not for so long. Thranduil's body was brought to sweat under that heavy gaze. But he couldn’t look away. He didn't feel he had the right to, not anymore.

Oh so quietly, Legolas muttered, "That they could think..." His jaw tightened before he did finally look away, seemingly looking in any random direction, just not at his father. His eyes blinked then squeezed shut.

Thranduil took a step forward. "My son, I-"

"They will never touch you. They bring their own death, if they do." His gaze latched back onto Thranduil's. "I will not be the cause of your death."

But apparently Legolas had no problem coming into his bedchamber to be that exact cause. Thranduil could still feel the ghosting of the blade against his neck, the closest anyone had ever come to killing him. Of course, Legolas' blade had failed in that task when it could have just as easily succeeded. And, at that time, Thranduil would have let it succeed.

"Your life _will_ be spared, father. And you will suffer in this life you have created for us as long as I breathe. I will not... I cannot..."  Legolas' eyes closed, and he breathed in a shuddering breath.  "Why could you not just ask me to stay with you? Beg me to? Was this, all of this, truly so much better in your eyes? Have you..." Legolas opened his eyes to stare at him briefly but then looked away again, swallowing. "Or have you always wanted this from me?"

The former king took another step forward but came to a standstill when hard eyes glared at him and his presumption that he could dare to come near. "I never thought to touch you before that day. Never." He didn't know why it was suddenly so important that Legolas understood that, but it was. "But I..."

But now he did want to touch him. Now, he lusted after his own son and he didn't know or how to stop it. Had touching Legolas been a catalyst for something that had always been there underneath his love for his child? Or was the mere thought of losing Legolas filled with so much torment that he needed to fill himself with something else, something better. Nevermind that, in the end, his own lust had never brought him true pleasure, rather only a insatiable need for more, and he could still very well lose his son.

Legolas' face scrunched up again as tears threatened. His head began to shake, sending his loose, untamed hair to scatter over his shoulders. "Why, father? Why would you... Nothing, not one part of this makes sense to me."

_How could I make sense of something I cannot understand myself?_

Instead of trying to answer him, Thranduil offered the sole reason he'd done it in the first place: "I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I cannot. You are my life, Legolas."

His son's blue eyes stared at him as tears dripped down. "You love me so much that you would...  Did you not love my mother?"

The simple question felt like a thousand slashes of a blade. What he'd done to Legolas had nothing to do with Thranduil's love for his wife.

But, then again... Perhaps his love for her and the loss of her... Perhaps it'd broken him more far more than he'd realized and had created this evil inside of him that had been waiting for thousands of years to surface.

At the words, his own thoughts, the agony all of this was creating, Thranduil strode forward and grabbed his son's wet face with his large hands, forcing him to look up at him. "I love your mother, as I love you. You must believe that, no matter comes of this."

He bent and kissed his son's forehead, Legolas' hot, heavy breaths hitting his neck.

Barely a whisper, Legolas asked, "As you do her?"

Thranduil's gut clenched as he realized how those words could have been taken. He pulled back, but the look on Legolas' face stalled out any further words that might have come. It was a weary look, one that spoke of resignation. And the words that came from Legolas' lips next made Thranduil realize he should have ended the conversation the moment it'd started.

"Do you still want to touch me?"

The hands he already pressed against Legolas' face increased the pressure without him meaning to, his fingers digging in, and Legolas cringed but didn't pull away. Nor could Thranduil release him.

Everything in him knew he should deny it, to lie. For the sake of everything good in the world, why couldn't he just lie?

Legolas' eyes closed and Thranduil's groin burned to life. His thumb brushed over his son's soft lips. Legolas' mouth opened slightly to breathe soft, hot breaths on his finger.

How he wanted to touch him...  To never, ever let him go.

"Forgive me."

Legolas' blue eyes blinked open, apparently the young elf partially lost in either his head or the sensations Thranduil's touch created. When their gazes met, Legolas rose to stand, which brought his body almost against his father's. The nearness stiffened Thranduil's length all the more under his thin, simple nightshirt he'd been told to wear.

"You would have me even here in this storage room, when you have been stripped of your crown and threatened with death?"

When said like that... Thranduil couldn't deny the absurdity of his body. but even those words unfortunately couldn't destroy his lust. And that was most like because, right then, his crown and death meant nothing to him when his son was so close. If the previous days hadn't proven that as well, he didn't know what could.

Breathing growing heavier, Legolas stood there, staring, waiting, allowing the grip on his face, the press of his father's cock against his belly. And Thranduil couldn't resist him. He dipped down, claiming his son's mouth, forcing his way in, kissing him deeply so that his length ached with need. He became utterly lost in Legolas' soft moan. So much so that he didn't notice the intruder until he was being twisted away with one strong yank, forcing him to relinquish his grip on Legolas. A blade pressed to his neck for the second time in such a short period of time.

"You vile creature! To pretend you are capable of love," Tauriel howled. Her raged eyes turned to Legolas. "Go!"

It was probably the remarkable stillness in Legolas' tired face, despite his heavy breathing, that stopped all of her forward momentum towards what was surely Thranduil's sentence being carried out much sooner than originally planned. Perhaps, though, merely for Thranduil's second head.

"Take him back, Tauriel. This meeting with council has been delayed long enough." Legolas walked around them both and left the room so quickly, it was as if he hadn't been there. Except, of course, for the fact that Thranduil still had a partial hardness at his groin that nonetheless ached for the single soul it couldn't, or, at the very least, shouldn't ever have.


	6. Finding Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter before this one was edited and the Thranduil and Legolas encounter now happens towards the end of it.

The water that ran over him, through his hair, over his face, Legolas wished he had the strength to bring it into his mouth, to breath it in, to end all of this misery, confusion, and heartache.  If only he did...

Instead, he just kept pouring the water over his head, rinsing out the last traces of fragrant powdered herbs from his water-darkened hair.

He'd already spent too much time in the pool.  His skin was wrinkly and cold as the warmth of the water seemed to steal his heat to add to its own.  His body shivered.  His teeth chattered.  But he couldn't seem to draw himself out of the water.  Not when he knew what he'd have to face when he dressed and walked out of his bedchamber. 

But he had to do it.  He had to move.  He had to.  Just-just not right now...

"My Lord-"

So unexpected, his body jerked at the voice.  Then he turned his head to take in the young elf, her robes swinging to an abrupt stop.

They stared at each other for a moment before, more quietly, the servant continued with, "The council has assembled at your request.  They wait only on you."

Legolas looked away, looked at nothing.  But then he nodded with an, "Okay," and forced himself to stand and walk out of the water. 

With quick steps, the maiden brought him his large towel, immediately wrapping it around him from behind with her slim arms.  Those arms were so different from his father's muscular arms, ones that had been clutching him less than an hour before, that he couldn't help but compare them.  To be held by her arms, an elf he'd only seen a handful of times since returning here...  He found himself suddenly wanting to know what it was like, to be held with softness, instead of the brutality of his father and lust-filled love of Gimli.  It was the way his mother had held him countless years before.  He realized then how much he missed it.

Her arms withdrew when he had a securing hand on the cloth.  She stood quietly behind him, barely breathing where his own breaths, he realized, were heavy with his anguish.  A hand touched the back of his trembling shoulder.  "My Lord..."

Legolas gritted his teeth, forcing himself to not respond to her obvious worry.  It wasn't what he needed right now.  He didn't know exactly what he needed, but it wasn't her concern.  Concern would only make the next hour harder.

As such, he blurted out, "Leave me."

It took a few seconds for her hand to pull away, but it did and then her quiet footsteps left the large chamber.

With harsh strokes, he dried off.  Perhaps it was to rid himself of that soft touch.  More likely it was to mask the memory of his father's.  He knew now that he'd never forget it and his father's desire for him.  He knew that, whenever he saw Thranduil from that point on, his father's touch would be the thing that flooded his mind, no matter what they spoke of or how Legolas pretended he could ignore it.  It was that way because his father still wanted him, despite everything, even when facing death.  And it completely brutalized Legolas' rational mind.  If only...

If only his father would show him the slightest trace of warmth instead of this lust that... 

Yes, Thranduil had spoken of love a short time before, but underneath it...  It was impossible to deny what was underneath it when the cock had pressed against him as his father had devoured his mouth.

The memory of that deep kiss made him throw on his clothes, hiding the unwanted stirring of his own cock, and forced his legs escape the bathing chamber, not bothering to tame his hair. He stalked straight to the council room.  A considerable distance away, he could already hear them bickering, shouting even, as they attempted to control their fates.  And, for once, he was glad for it.  His father never should have been taken lightly by any of them.  Legolas himself had certainly never been able to.  And that was why he was trapped here to begin with, because he hadn't been able to simply walk away without his father.

When he entered the chamber, it was quick to quiet.  The lot of them, over fifteen souls, quickly stopped to stare in a rippling effect.  When he stopped as well in front of the table, the head councilwoman stood up, her heavy chair squealing back a bit with the suddenness of it. 

"My Prince, we have assembled and await your command." 

It was obvious she had no idea what he was about to say.  Legolas was an elf who'd been raised with these elves. They were his kin.  Their beliefs were his own, just as his choices were theirs as their Prince.  As long as he didn't break their coveted laws as his father had done, they would die for him without question, even these particular elves, most of whom rarely, if ever, saw battle.

Luckily, what he wanted from them wasn't a breaking of those laws.  And he needed it done, as every passing day brought more weakness to his body.  He wasn't sure how much longer he could fight off the ravaging tiredness.  He was even more unsure as to why he still bothered to try, considering the pain of everything.  Something in him just still hadn't let go.  Well, he was sure it was solely the precariousness of his father's life.

If he hadn't come home, if he'd just left as his instinct had urged him to do, his father wouldn't have had the chance to sink to the low he had. For the time being, Legolas just had ignore the fact that his father was still wallowing, perhaps even willingly, in that lustful low.

This had to be done.  Whether or not his father deserved it, because Legolas would never, ever be the cause of his death.  His love for his father was too great.

Drawing up his strength for what had to be done, Legolas eyed every one of them, each elf meeting his gaze.  When he re-met the head councilor's gaze, he proclaimed, "No longer am I your prince.  You have made me your king."

The female's smile was instantaneous, her shoulders dropping as her body released some of its tension.  In fact, the whole room noticeably relaxed in an almost collective sigh.  Obviously, that was one huge worry taken care of for them.  Everyone stood, some quicker than others, and bowed their respect and allegiance to him.  Legolas bowed in return, trying to not let the dizziness suddenly swarming his head take him down to the floor.

When he straightened, he took the whole of them in again and offered a small smile that was more of a comfort to himself than anything.  "My father is absolved."  Voices immediately rumbled.  Some exclaimed their disbelief.  Unabashed, at least externally if a person didn't consider his sunken, thinned face, Legolas said above their voices, "You shall have no recourse."

"My King, our laws say-"

"I know what our laws say.  My life has been devoted to them, to this kingdom, since the day I was born to you.  However, I also know what my heart and mind say.  His death will bring me no peace.  On the contrary, losing him will take my life."  Legolas took a step closer to the table and the last of them quieted down.  "I forgive him for everything he has done since my return.  Do the same.  Or, at least, forget him.  He is no longer your concern."

"Sire," an elder male with a ruddy face said, "What you ask of us is beyond comprehension.  We cannot forget-"

"You will," Legolas roared out, his whole body rigid.  "If you listen to nothing else I command, listen to this:  He is my father and my punishment shall be what he deserves, no more, no less."

"Punishment?  Then what will be his punishment be, My Lord?"

Legolas swallowed, but didn't otherwise portray the turmoil inside of himself that threatened to explode from his body.

The only option he had been able to come up with in that pool minutes before... 

He didn't know if he himself could live with it, let alone his father living with the consequences of Legolas' decision, but it was the only way he could be assured his father's safety while, at the same time, satisfy these bloodthirsty elves.

"He shall attend me as my servant," the king said before he continued over their sudden protests with, "He shall grovel day and night at my feet, with no reprieve.  Humility and meekness will become all he knows."  Legolas swallowed again as their voices quieted again at the damning words.  It was so hard to get the next words to come out because he couldn’t stand the idea of his father frail and feeble, but he didn't have a choice if he was to satisfy them. "He shall be bound with magic to tie his tongue and weaken his mind until he learns that his place is lower than that of any servant, of even our enemies."

When Legolas let his voice fall, having no more words to say, the lot of them began to bicker loudly amongst themselves.  Legolas let them.  He turned a deaf ear to them, not wanting to hear any of it.

Truly, if they changed their mind about Legolas being their king because of this, so that they could take Thranduil's life into their own hands, there wasn't anything he could do about it.  He couldn't fight all of them.  But that didn't mean he wouldn't try, if it came down to it.

It took a good ten minutes before the councilwoman stood back up as the rest of the room quieted.  "My King, what you propose, we will do as you command, however, his place is not attending you.  I fear for you, for your wellbeing, for your sanity even, if he is allowed to be near you.  Surely he can be sent to the barracks to serve our soldiers, or made to labor in the storage rooms, if he must remain in the fortress."

Legolas shook his head slowly, saying, "You need not concern yourself, my Lady.  He has done all that he can do to me, short of taking my life.  What lies beyond, only light can shine, fore, you must understand, he is my light."  After he said the words, he realized the utter truth in them that he'd allowed himself to forget over the years.  "Darkness shall consume me if I am made to part with him.  Accept this as the truth, unless you wish for the death of your king."

"Sire, we beseech only for your long life," she said through a tight throat.

The warm words made Legolas smile, the first real smile he'd smiled in days.  "Your words, your love for me lightens my heart, Dear Lady.  To serve you and our kin shall be my greatest honor for as long as this life will keep me."  He took in the whole of the audience again and then said to all of them, "Begin the binding while the light still shines on this day.  I would have him serve me tonight."

The whole of them stood, those of which weren't already standing, and bowed, leaving Legolas to nod his head and leave the room in haste.  He couldn't get away fast enough.

But, apparently quite lost of sanity, he found himself entering his father's bedchamber.  As was the way of things, the room was his to claim, if he wished it.  However, when he swung open the door and took a step inside, he knew it wasn't his to claim.  It never would be.  If only these elves could see that. 

Slow steps took him to his father's dresser.  There, amongst an assortment of jewelry that could have kept a family well for generations, sat his father's metal crown, the one Thranduil only wore when he was heading to battle.  The metal glistened in the dim light, the torch near the bed almost burnt down to the hilt.  Legolas ran his finger along the edge of it, remembering the last time he'd seen his father wear it. 

All those years ago, Thranduil had spoken of his mother's love.  It was something Legolas had needed to hear after so many years of not being able to speak her name.  How his father had known at that moment that he'd needed to hear it, Legolas didn't know.  He hadn't even known he'd needed to hear it. 

But Thranduil hadn't spoken of his own love for his son.  Not that he'd needed to.  Underneath everything, despite everything, Legolas had always known his father loved him.  And that was what made all of these recent days so utterly horrible.

The only thing that gave him hope was the fact that his father had said he'd never wanted to touch him before the day he'd raped him.  In turn, that made all of this a mistake, a loss of control, something that surely could be remedied.  Surely his father could go back to seeing Legolas as merely his son.  And Legolas could go back to loving his father with the whole of his heart, even during the times life tore them apart. 

And he could then forget the touches, the grabs, the pulls, the deep kisses that he could still feel in the depths of his body, all of which had brought life to his own groin even as it made him want to make his father stop.

"Can I forgot?  Is that even possible?" Legolas whispered as his fingers circled the crown before his hand dropped away.  He didn't know.  Only time would tell.

An hour later, after a knock on the door, a steaming meal was brought to him by his servant.  Legolas barely acknowledged him.  He didn't sit down until the food was long cold.  By then his stomach was growling and biting at him, demanding the foolish king eat what had previously smelled so delicious.  He forced a piece of tender deer meat into his mouth, but it barely had flavor.  It took all of his strength to swallow it.

His blue eyes took in the plate, his trembling hand, his trembling body, part of which strove to live although it was a dimming part, and he suddenly realized what was happening to him.  He'd heard of elves fading from heartbreak and the most vicious, sadistic of assault of rape.  But he'd never witnessed it personally.  Especially not in his own body. 

The realization reawakened that dimming part of him that burned to live, at least by a little bit.  But while facing the certainty of death, his mind couldn't comprehend that death.

Yes, he'd been in battle, faced death countless times.  But every one of those times, he'd fought to the end of his will to live and, when necessary, killed those who'd have killed him.

Now, his body weakened, more so every day.  And he didn't know how much longer he would last. 

Had the councilwoman known?  Was that why she'd practically begged him to send his father out of his presence?  Was he only going to quicken his death by having his father near?

And he knew he was truly lost when he couldn't find the will to care either way.  Some part of him even welcomed the nearness as it would make the inevitable come all that much faster and end this.

At least he'd saved his father's life.  His own life, well, only the stubbornness of his body truly kept him alive.

Eventually, he left the full plate, stepped with trembling legs to his father's bed, and collapsed onto it.  From where he was, he could see his own blade across the room from when Thranduil had thrown it.  Did it have the elf's blood on it that proved his father was as much of a mortal as anyone, despite the long lives of elves?  Instead of finding out, he buried his face into the plush mattress, breathing in what he could of a breath.  The scent of his father flowed into him, enveloped him, made him imagine happier times.

A short time later, another knock sounded at the door.  Legolas shoved himself off of the bed,  standing next to it.  "Come."

The door opened.  Two guards came through, along with an elf who Legolas knew to be older than his father.  He knew this elf was the one who'd preformed the binding.  Behind him was Legolas' father and two more guards behind him. 

Immediately, Legolas could recognize the dullness in Thranduil's eyes.

The enchanter came to stand near him and said with a low voice, "My Lord, what has been done is temporary, lasting a week or two at most.  In a few days, I will return.  However, if you have need of me, call for me, day or night."

Legolas couldn't bring himself to speak, so he merely nodded as he stared as his father.  The enchanter stared at him for a few seconds too long though, obviously not wanting to leave without some type of response from the king.  So, Legolas turned his heavy gaze on the elf and said, "I shall call on you when needed."  He looked at all of them.  "You may leave."

The lot of them left, Thranduil turning his head to watch them go, right before he took a step to go with them.

When he realized the older elf's intent, he blurted out, "Father." 

Thranduil turned his head to look at him.  There didn't appear to be any recognition for his own son in his eyes.

Tears came to Legolas' own eyes.  "Forgive me, father."  He stepped forward, but not enough to touch the other elf.  "Know that I did what I had to.  Your mind will come back to you. This will not last."

Of course, depending on Thranduil's reaction when he came to, Legolas knew there was the good possibility that he'd be forced to bind him again.  Surely, his father would never willing accept this kind of control over his life. 

Legolas stared at the shell his father had become and wondered how long either of them would truly last.  If he did in fact succumb to fading, how long would his father last without him before the Silvan elves brought him down with their rage?  Days?  Hours?  Minutes?  Perhaps he'd only delayed the inevitable.

Yes.  That was exactly what he'd done.

Looking over his father, Legolas quickly came to realize how dirty spending the day in the cell had made him.  He could have sent him to the pool by himself, but, instead, fearing leaving his presence, Legolas walked around him, to the door, saying over his shoulder, "Come."

Thranduil walked behind him as they made their way to the pool. 

When they arrived in the large, open room, Legolas said, "Undress yourself and bathe."

The former king stared at him for a brief moment before he lifted his soiled nightshirt over his head and then stepped into the pool.  Legolas couldn't help but watch his large, muscular body take every one of those steps.  Yes, Legolas had feared he'd never be allowed to see his father again.  But, at that moment, it was more than that.  It was the memory of what that body did to him only hours before, kissing him with an unreal fervor, of how Thranduil had twisted Legolas onto his stomach and thrust against him, bring a hardness to the younger elf's own groin, and the, of course, the times before that...

A tremor racked through his body as he remembered all of it.  The only thing he couldn't remember clearly was his father's length actually being inside of him, taking away his virginity, when he'd raped him.

Watching his father's slow methodical movements, wanting... something, Legolas didn't really realized he'd started moving forward until the legs of his pants became wet in the warm water of the pool.  Was he truly that lost, that insane, even?   He questioned himself because, underneath his denial, he knew why he'd moved forward:  Because he wanted to see if he felt anything right now.  And with his father not capable of truly acknowledging his presence, it was safe to do so.

When the water reached his thighs, Legolas standing not even an arm's length away, Thranduil finally turned his head to look at him, but there was nothing more than that in his features.  Legolas let out a shuddering breath and reached out a hand.  The skin, under his fingertips that rested on his father's stomach, was so hot compared to his own touch, reminding him how he could never seem to find warmth in his own body anymore. 

Thranduil's hands stopped running water of his large frame and instead took to watching the fingers that trailed to his bellybutton, then upwards, until Legolas' palm came to rest over his father's heart.  What Legolas felt, he wished it wasn't there, but it was, and he couldn't deny the pull of his own father.

Had they never touched though in the past days, Legolas knew he wouldn't have felt this.  He'd always been happy to limit any and all physical contact with another person.  He'd been happy to never have a lover.  He'd never even really thought about the lust and desire consuming the world unless it was shoved in his face by someone who blatantly wanted him or by witnessing uninhibited lovers out in the open.

Now...  He didn't want to acknowledge what caused it, but something had changed in him.  Something made him look at this elf as he'd never looked at anyone else before.  And he hated it.  But he also couldn't deny the heat flowing through him as his father took to staring at him.

Legolas looked up, holding his father's gaze.  He wanted to know more.  To know the truth.  Did he truly want his father?  Or had all of his reactions been instinctual or a reflex to survive horrid situations? 

Pressing his lips together, he looked at his father's lips.  His heart thudded even more than it already was, bringing him to sweat and his breaths to tremble.  Telling himself he merely wanted to know the truth, before he could change his mind, he commanded with a whisper, "Kiss me."

There was only the smallest hesitation before Thranduil bend his head down and brought his lips to Legolas' own.  Then Thranduil attempted to pull away.  Not ready for it, Legolas grabbed his face and pulled him back down. 

They kissed chastely, Legolas doing the work, before he pulled back slightly and further ordered, "Open your mouth."

There was a bit more of a hesitation before Thranduil did open his mouth, letting Legolas slowly caress his tongue and teeth with his own tongue.  Then, what happened shouldn't have been able to happen, not with Thranduil in the condition he was supposed to be in, but when Legolas pressed forward, seeking more of the taste of his father's mouth, he felt a hardness pressing at his stomach, jutting from Thranduil's naked body.  It was then that Legolas realized Thranduil had begun to kiss back.  The former king's hands slid up the sides of his body to wrap around Legolas' waist, right before tightening into a hold.

Whether it was fear or the lust of his own body, Legolas moaned into his father's mouth.  That sound seemed to drive Thranduil on.  Thranduil's groin trust forward as his mouth began to claim the younger elf.  Legolas couldn't stop his own length from hardening, nor could he stop his rutting against Thranduil's leg that intensified as Thranduil broke the kiss and ran his lips and teeth down Legolas' neck.

Thranduil's hands gripped the firm cheeks of Legolas' backside, forcing Legolas' groin to rock even harder, and Legolas called out into the air with his loud moans and heavy breaths.  He wrapped his arms around his father's neck, and rode the burning in his body, no longer caring if he wanted it or not.

It was the feeling of fingers pressing at his cloth-covered hole, pushing in, making him want them to push in farther, that he lost it.  Inside of his clothing, Legolas came hard against his father, grunting, practically crying as the orgasm made his whole body tremble and spasm.  Thranduil held him tight through it, kissing the side of his head, his ear, the top of his neck.

When the brunt of it had passed, Legolas buried his face in the crook of his father's neck, trying to control his breathing and the trembles still racking through him.  He wanted the sensations to go away as much as he wanted them there.  But he didn't want his father to let go of him.  Ever.

Against Thranduil's neck, just a bare whisper, only because he was sure Thranduil wouldn't truly be able to understand, Legolas said, "Maybe I do want you."


End file.
